


Through the Long Night

by reallooney



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Geralt is compassionate, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Sickfic, Soft Geralt, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 48,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25626511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallooney/pseuds/reallooney
Summary: After a bad injury, Geralt decides it would be best to take Jaskier to winter with him in Kaer Morhen.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 467
Kudos: 1330





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Geralt had enemies everywhere. It didn’t make much sense to Jaskier, who saw Geralt as a genuinely goodhearted person, but there were a lot of people out there who, either for personal or financial reasons, wanted Geralt dead. He had warned Jaskier about this when he had first started getting serious about following the Witcher around, and he learned quickly how to stay out of the crossfire, but one of these times things were bound to go sideways. 

The men came seemingly out of nowhere, catching the pair— who were tired from a fight with some drowners and a rather long walk through the woods—wholly off guard. In normal circumstances Jaskier knew Geralt could handle five men, but it had been a long hard couple of days, and the bard felt wrong standing by and potentially letting the situation get out of hand. 

Already engaged with two of the men, the third went at the Witcher with a wicked looking dagger. Jaskier lunged, pulling the man around by his shoulder to face him and landing a solid punch of his jaw before he could get his bearings. The bard had been in his fair share of drunken brawls, but he’d never felt the effects of a truly desperate blow. There was a loud crack as his fist made contact and a jolt of pain ran up his arm. The punch caught the man off guard, but only for a moment. Before Jaskier could land another, the man had him by the arm. The bard tried to wrest himself free, but the man swung at him with his dagger. Jaskier dodged, and the blade barely swiped his cheekbone. His quick reflexes gave him a momentary burst of confidence, but then he was being forced to his knees. Where was Geralt? 

The Witcher was still fighting two men at once, the other two unmoving on the ground. He was not coming to Jaskier’s aid. He tried again to wrest his arm free, but the man twisted it violently. There was a sickening crack and the pain clouded Jaskier’s vision. He was out of options. With his good arm he reached into his boot where he kept a dagger which, up until this point, he’d never had to use. Without thinking, he thrust the blade up into the man’s torso. The man fell onto Jaskier. The blood, which was rapidly saturating his shirt, soaking into Jaskier’s doublet. Jaskier shoved him away and watched, eerily mesmerized, as the pool of blood around the now dead man continued to grow.  
***  
Geralt had no idea who the men were, but he didn’t give them a chance to explain. Their motive was clear, and that was enough for him. Before the fight began he counted five men, but now that the night was once again silent, there were only four bodies at his feet. Had one run away? No, there he was, laying in a pool of blood at Jaskier’s feet. Seeing his bard fully pulled the Wticher from his fighting mindset. Sidestepping the bodies, he made his way over to Jaskier, who was sitting against the wall of a nearby building with his knees pulled up to his ribs, and his arms loosely crossed over them, one pressed against his chest, the other holding a bloody dagger. 

“Are you hurt?” He knelt next to the bard, trying to inventory any injuries he might’ve sustained. There was a trickle of blood coming from a cut on his cheekbone, and the front of his doublet was stained a deep red, but the blood didn’t seem to be coming from Jaskier. He could tell that much. Even with the lack of any obvious injuries though, Geralt could tell something was seriously wrong. There was a vacant look in his eyes and he didn’t give any sign of acknowledgment when Geralt spoke to him. The Witcher reached a hand out to him, but, seeing the dagger he was gripping so tightly his hand shook, he thought twice. He knew the bard would never hurt him intentionally, but shock made people do crazy things. He pulled his hand back. 

“Jaskier.” He repeated the name a few times, with increasing fervor each time until the bard finally, as if exiting a trance, took notice of him.  
“Are you hurt?” he repeated, holding his hand out for Jaskier’s weapon. “Here, give me the dagger, I’ll help you up. We can’t stay here.” 

“I killed him,” Jaskier said in a voice just above a whisper, looking to the body at his feet and then finally meeting Geralt’s gaze. 

He was definitely in shock. Other than the cut on his cheek though, and the sickly pale shade of his skin, he seemed relatively unharmed. Geralt would carry him to the next town if that’s what it took, but every moment they stayed here made him more anxious. He didn’t know who had sent these men or if they had friends here, but a Witcher standing next to a pile of bodies was never well received. It was only a matter of time before they were discovered and that would just make the whole thing worse. He needed to get Jaskier up on his feet and moving, but something, whether it was shock or injury, kept the bard on the ground. 

He tentatively reached out for Jaskier’s shaking hand, wrapping it in his own. At this, the hand holding the dagger relaxed and Geralt was able to slip it into his own. Now that he was unarmed, Geralt felt more comfortable approaching the bard. 

“I’m going to help you up, okay? Can you stand?” He once again grabbed Jaskier’s hand, moving to help him stand, but once he straightened his arm, the injury Geralt had hoped desperately didn’t exist, made itself obvious. His other arm, which was still pressed against his chest, was bent at an unnatural angle.

It was a bad break. Without any closer examination, the Witcher could tell that both bones were broken. Jaskier was lucky neither of the bones were protruding through his skin. The injury was serious, but it shouldn’t stop him from walking. 

Instead of pulling him up by his good arm, Geralt put it around his shoulder and wrapped an arm around the smaller man’s waist. As soon as Jaskier was upright, he began to sway, leaning into Geralt’s side, unsteady. He looked down again to the body in the pool of blood a few feet away, and with no warning he leaned over, still keeping his bad arm pressed to his chest as he retched. He was definitely in shock. As soon as he was finished, Geralt helped him over and up onto Roach. He wasn’t in the best condition for travel, but he would survive, and right now the thing that mattered most was getting the hell out of this town.


	2. Chapter 2

The only thing Jaskier could focus on was the pain. His whole body was tense, trying to keep his arm from moving, but despite his best efforts, every step Roach took sent a fresh wave of pain through his body. Geralt sat behind him, one arm wrapped around his waist to keep him steady. He wished he could lean into the Witcher’s sturdy chest. If he could only force his muscles to relax. 

The countryside streaked past as they rode, making Jaskier dizzy and nauseous, but every time he closed his eyes he saw the body of the dead man in the pool of blood. He kept his mouth shut tight, willing himself not to throw up again. 

He wasn’t sure when he began to shiver, but suddenly he felt acutely aware of the wind on his blood soaked shirt. He hoped this nightmarish ride would be over soon. He felt Geralt’s arm tense around him, pulling him closer. Perhaps this was an attempt to warm him up, or maybe just to provide some extra comfort and security. Either way, Jaskier appreciated the gesture. If he were with anyone but Geralt right now he would be panicking, but despite the pain and the cold and the terrible memory of what he had done, he knew he would be taken care of. 

***

If he had been by himself, Geralt would have pushed on and tried to put more distance between himself and the pile of dead bodies one town over. He wasn’t alone though, and he didn’t think Jaskier could handle much more travel. He needed his bones set and a warm place to spend the night, not several more hours on horseback. 

He stopped in front of the first inn he came across and dismounted Roach before trying as carefully as possible to help Jaskier down. He then half dragged, half carried the bard into the inn. 

“Do you need a-” the woman began without looking up, stopping cold as soon as she saw the Witcher and blood covered bard.

“I need a room and a hot bath,” Geralt said, not waiting for her to wipe the shocked look off her face. 

She nodded, her eyes still wide. “First room upstairs on the right. I’ll have hot water brought up right away.”

“Thank you.” 

Getting Jaskier up the stairs was no small feat. The bard managed to keep his feet as they climbed though, collapsing hard on the bed as soon as they got to their room. He looked absolutely exhausted. 

Geralt was reluctant to leave him, but he still needed to get Roach settled in a stable, and retrieve the rest of their things. If it weren’t for Roach and the much needed medical supplies in his saddle bag, Geralt would have stayed. As it was, he promised himself he wouldn’t be gone more than ten minutes. 

“Are you alright to stay here alone while I go get our things?” He asked, making sure Jaskier heard him before he stepped out. Jaskier just nodded, staying silent as Geralt left the room. 

True to his promise to himself, he was back in the inn after just a few minutes, Roach safely stabled, and his bag over his shoulder. There was just one thing he needed now. 

He approached the woman at the counter, who had apparently recovered from the shock of his entrance, and she greeted him with a smile. 

“I have the water on now. My girls will bring it up for you as soon as it’s hot,” she said. 

“Thank you,” Geralt responded. “If I could trouble you for one more thing though.” 

“Of course.” 

He explained the nature of Jaskier’s injury, and how he needed something to use for the splint. 

“I have just the thing,” the innkeeper responded. “Wait here.” 

Geralt made a mental note to make sure and remember to give her a few extra coins before they left. 

She returned a few minutes later with what appeared to be a long spoon with the end cut off, leaving a wooden rod roughly the length of a man’s forearm.  
“And this should help with the pain,” she said, handing him the rod along with a flask. “The water will be done any minute now. Is there anything else you need?” 

Her hospitality was refreshing, especially after their reception in the last town. Geralt was sure her attitude was either due to seeing the injured bard and feeling the same inescapable desire to help him that he himself felt, or it was due to a respect for the Witcher due to the reputation Jaskier had built for him with his songs. He tried to think of anything else Jaskier might need now. 

“Some food would be greatly appreciated,” he responded. He doubted Jaskier was hungry, but neither of them had eaten since this morning. 

The woman nodded. “Of course. I’ll have the girls bring it up with the water.” 

Geralt thanked her again, before climbing back up the stairs. 

Jaskier sat right where Geralt had left him, shivering, his bad arm still pressed against his chest. He didn’t think he’d moved it an inch since it had been broken. Setting it would be no fun at all.   
He began to set out all of his medical supplies, opening the flask the innkeeper had given him and smelling. He was met with the strong scent of alcohol. Not a potion, but it would get the job done. 

He walked over to Jaskier, who was watching the wall with an empty gaze. Geralt didn’t want to do anything until he knew Jaskier was aware of what was happening. What was to come would be miserable enough without being taken off guard. Kneeling in front of the bed, he said Jaskier’s name, placing his hand on the side of his face and wiping away the blood from the cut on his cheek with his thumb, his fingers in the bard’s hair. 

Jaskier looked down at him, appearing to be more lucid than he had been earlier. Geralt took this as a good sign, and his signal to begin. He helped Jaskier over to the small table in the corner, and sat him down in the singular chair. 

“I think we’re going to have to cut you out of your shirt,” he explained. The sleeves were much too tight to get Jaskier’s broken arm out without a lot of unnecessary pain. 

At this, Jaskier made a noise of disapproval. Another good sign. 

“I’ll try to be careful. We might be able to sew it up later.”

This seemed to placate him. 

They got his good arm out and the front unbuttoned just fine, and Geralt tried to use his knife as sparingly as possible as he began to tear out stitches to free Jaskier’s injured right arm. It looked even worse uncovered. After the shirt was off, Geralt carefully straightened the arm at the elbow and laid it down on the table to examine the break. Jaskier winced as it moved, but didn’t say anything. 

“Here,” Geralt retrieved the flask, “drink some of this. It should dull the pain.” 

Jaskier took it without question, taking two long drinks before setting it back on the table as Geralt inspected the injury. 

Just as he had suspected before, both bones were broken, leaving Jaskier’s forearm to lay at an odd angle. On top of that, it was badly bruised and swollen to nearly twice the size of his left arm. The swelling in the arm and hand made it hard to notice at first, but upon closer inspection, Geralt found two of his fingers to be swollen and bruised as well. 

“Did he break your fingers, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. He wasn’t sure how that could have happened, but they definitely seemed to be at least sprained, if not fractured. 

“I hit him in the jaw,” Jaskier responded, looking down at his hand, seemingly unperturbed. He probably couldn’t even feel them at this point. 

“I’ll set them first.” 

Jaskier winced as he wrapped them, using his third finger as a splint for the first two fractured ones. Hopefully setting the arm would go over just as well. 

Geralt gave him something to bite down on, assuring him it would be over quickly. He put a hand on each side of the break, probing the place where the bones separated with his fingers, trying to visualize the bones so he could get this right on the first try. 

Jaskier let out a pained noise muffled by the folded up cloth in his mouth as Geralt felt the injury, but this was nothing compared to the cry of pain he let out as Geralt, swallowing back his apprehension, firmly grabbed each side of the break and straightened Jaskier’s arm. The cry turned Geralt’s stomach, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty for causing it, but he didn’t let it slow him down. The faster it was splinted and bandaged the better. 

Once it was securely wrapped, Geralt looked back up to Jaskier’s face. He had pulled out the folded cloth, and his jaw was set, tears running down his face. Geralt was about to say something when a knock came at the   
door. 

It was the girls bringing up the water for the bath. He let them in, thanking them before walking back over to Jaskier. 

“Can you stand?” he asked. “We need to get you in the bath.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier responded, his breath coming in gasps. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with his good hand. 

“Does the splint feel alright?” Geralt asked. “It’s not too tight?” 

“No,” Jaskier hesitated for a few seconds. “It feels good.” 

“Good.” 

They moved from the table to the bed as one of the girls brought up two meals and set them on the table while the other girl continued to fill the bathtub. Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder, and Geralt rubbed comforting circles on the bard’s bare back as they waited for the girls to leave. 

Once they were gone, Geralt helped Jaskier out of his pants and into the water. His skin felt cold and clammy, and he was still shivering. The hot water would do him some good. 

Jaskier just relaxed in the water for a few minutes, careful to keep his bandaged arm dry as he warmed up. Geralt dipped his hands in the hot water, bringing them to the parts of Jaskier which weren’t submerged, allowing the warmth to ease his tense shoulder and neck muscles. By the time Geralt began to wash the blood from the bard’s chest hair, Jaskier was relaxed enough to lean back against the edge of the bathtub. Geralt suspected the alcohol was doing it’s job. 

Geralt was hesitant to send Jaskier to bed with wet hair, but there was no blood matted there, so he figured he could get away without washing it. It took awhile to get all the blood and dirt off his legs and torso, but Jaskier sat patiently as Geralt worked in silence. 

The water had started to grow cold by the time Geralt helped Jaskier out of the bath, bringing over a clean pair of underpants and a shirt. 

“This is yours,” Jaskier said, holding up the black shirt Geralt had handed him. 

“You aren’t going to be able to get that arm through the sleeves on one of your shirts,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier seemed to accept this response, pulling the billowy black shirt over his head, and walking over to the table where Geralt was packing up his unused medical supplies.   
He sat down in front of the food, pouring himself a glass of wine from the pitcher in the middle of the table. 

“Have some food,” Geralt instructed, watching as Jaskier finished the glass of wine before nibbling on a piece of bread. 

When he walked back over to Jaskier, all of the supplies packed up again in his bag, there was another half empty cup of wine in front of him—the bread untouched after just a few bites. Geralt sighed.   
“Come on Jaskier,” he said in a low voice. “I think it’s time you went to bed.”


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt didn’t realize how tense he was until after Jaskier was asleep and he was finally able to take a deep breath for the first time in hours. He was so worried about the younger man, but now as he lay still on the bed, his breathing even, it seemed as if the worst was over. Now he could focus on himself, and hopefully even get some sleep. 

The fight with the drowners felt like it had been days ago. In reality less than half a day had passed. It had been an incredibly long day though, and as much as Geralt was ready to sleep, he hadn’t had time to take inventory of himself since the drowners, let alone since the run in with the men who ambushed them. 

He began to take his armor off, checking all of his joints to make sure there was no pain other than the usual soreness he felt after a long and particularly eventful day. There was a gash on the back of his studded armor, and he had bruises flowering on his chest and arms. The bruises didn’t hurt much though, and the armor could be repaired. He wished Jaskier could have walked away this unscathed. 

Much to his disappointment, the bathwater was too murky from blood and dirt to be of any use to Geralt. A bath sounded wonderful—tonight though, he would have to go without. One of the buckets which had been left in reserve for rinsing was still full though. This would have to do for now. 

Walking back to his things, Geralt pulled on some sleep clothes, ready to get to bed, but Just as he reached the bed, Jaskier stirred. He stopped short, waiting to see if the bard would wake—hoping he wouldn’t. He stood silent for a bit, watching as Jaskier moved as if he were going to turn over onto his side. The two men shared a silent moment as Geralt tried to avoid anything which might wake Jaskier, and Jaskier turned over to lay on his back again. After a few seconds, Geralt figured it must have been a false alarm.

No such luck. He was just about to lay down in bed when Jaskier sat up. His face was pale and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Geralt sighed. Sleep would have to wait. 

***

Jaskier didn’t realize he had been sleeping until he woke up. Disappointed, he tried to get back to sleep, but as soon as he went to roll over onto his side, he was hit by a wave of pain and nausea along with the memory of the night’s events. He was still drunk. He’d hoped the alcohol would help him sleep, and maybe even erase some of the memories from this horrible night. The alcohol however, seemed intent on making this night worse.

His arm wouldn’t let him roll over on his side, and the nausea wasn’t going anywhere. He tried to get situated on his back again, but since it was the only option, it didn’t feel comfortable anymore. He was determined though, to get back to sleep. He pressed his eyes shut, willing himself to drift back into unconsciousness. This only lasted a few seconds. As much as he just wanted to sleep, this was clearly not an option. He was going to be sick. Unwillingly, he sat up. 

Jaskier didn’t have to say a word and Geralt was there. 

“Is everything alright?” the Witcher asked in a low, even voice. 

Jaskier hummed in reply, unwilling to open his mouth. He heard Geralt get up and felt him a few seconds later press something into his lap. His eyes were closed now, and he was trying to take even breaths through his nose, still under the foolish impression that he could avoid the inevitable. He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him as the next wave of nausea hit, stronger than before. He opened his own eyes just in time to identify what Geralt had put in his lap—one of the empty water buckets—before he vomited into it. The alcohol burned his throat, making his eyes water. When he stopped, he felt Geralt’s large hand rubbing small circles on his back. 

“Better now?” the Witcher asked in a low voice. 

But Jaskier couldn’t answer because he was vomiting again. This continued for a minute or so until his stomach was empty, his muscles sore and his nose running. 

“Finished?” 

Jaskier nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his good hand and resting his head against the headboard. Geralt silently took the bucket from his lap and left the room with it. Jaskier closed his eyes again. Even sitting on the bed he felt unsteady. He was shaking again, the pain in his arm now accompanied by pain in his head and throat. All he wanted was sleep. He tried to focus on relaxing his muscles, but the shaking persisted. He wasn’t sure if it was a product of the vomiting or the chilly room, either way it wasn’t going to be easy to get back to sleep now. He only wished he had something to wash the bitter taste from his mouth. 

As if on cue Geralt returned, the bucket traded for a glass of water. He handed it to Jaskier, keeping two fingers on the bottom of the glass once he noticed how badly Jaskier’s hand was shaking, as if to help without coddling him like a child. Jaskier appreciated it. The last thing this night needed was wet bed sheets. 

He drank about half the glass, taking small sips. He worried he would throw up again if he drank it too fast, but on the contrary the water cleared his mouth and helped to settle his stomach. Geralt took the glass and set it on the table when it was clear Jaskier was finished. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier said in a raspy voice, speaking for the first time since before he had gone to bed. 

“Are you cold?” Geralt asked, not acknowledging the thanks, instead motioning to Jaskier’s trembling shoulders.

Jaskier nodded. “It’s fine though. I’ll be alright.” There was no fireplace in the room, so it wasn’t like there was much Geralt could do to help. 

“It’s not alright. You need sleep,” he replied sounding almost annoyed. He walked over to his bag, pulling out his black cloak and bringing it over to Jaskier. 

Jaskier didn’t protest as Geralt wrapped it around his shoulders. 

“Now go back to sleep,” Geralt instructed. 

If only it were that easy. The warmth of the cloak was wonderful, but not enough. The stress from the day’s events, the vomiting, the pain and the exhaustion all combined with the cold, and the more Jaskier tried to relax the tenser he became. His teeth began to chatter. 

Geralt sighed and got up from where he had been sitting at the table. He climbed into bed next to Jaskier, who was still sitting upright against the headboard. The Witcher gently took Jaskier by the shoulder, guiding him. Jaskier relaxed into his side, half sitting, half laying against Geralt, his broken arm laying across Geralt’s thigh. From this position he could hear the Witcher’s slow heartbeat. He tried to align his breathing with each of Geralt’s even inhales and exhales, blocking out the pain and instead trying to only focus on the rhythm these breaths created. 

Geralt maneuvered his hand under his own cloak, which now enveloped Jaskier’s body, and began to rub Jaskier’s back, the warmth and gentle touch relaxing the bard’s muscles, ceasing the trembling in his shoulders and arms. 

It took awhile, but with Geralt’s hand on his back, the comforting steadiness of his breathing, and the knowledge that he was being dutifully cared for, Jaskier found sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments! This is my first ever Witcher fanfic, and I'm so happy you are enjoying it:))


	4. Chapter 4

When Geralt woke the next morning the side Jaskier was leaning against was nice and warm, and the side that faced the edge of the bed was cold. Most of the blankets were wrapped around Jaskier, leaving Geralt with cold fingertips and goosebumps. He didn’t mind though, because it meant Jaskier was still soundly asleep. 

He stayed there for a little bit, enjoying the peace of the morning. He would have been happy to stay like this all day.

When he did get up, he tried his best to pile up the pillows where he had been so Jaskier would still be comfortable in his absence. As he left he closed the door quietly, hoping Jaskier would still be asleep when he returned.  
He needed to get his bearings, figure out what time it was, and pay for their room. Maybe he’d even go check on Roach, he thought absentmindedly as he walked down the stairs. 

His plans abruptly changed when two men walked in with snow dusting their shoulders and the tops of their heads. It couldn’t be. There shouldn’t be snow yet—at least not in this part of The Continent. He walked outside in disbelief. Sure enough, a thick blanket of snow covered the town with more still falling. 

He and Jaskier had already been planning to part after this last job to go their separate ways for the winter—Geralt to Kaer Morhen and Jaskier to the coast—but even then, they should have had plenty of time to get to their respective destinations before winter hit. 

All hopes of staying here and letting Jaskier rest for a few days were gone. They needed to be on the road a week ago. 

He walked up to the innkeeper and paid her for the room, making sure to give her a few extra coins and thank her for her hospitality. 

“Leaving so soon?” She asked. “Is your friend feeling better?” 

“He’s still resting,” Geralt explained. “We're meant to be somewhere before winter hits though.” 

She nodded knowingly. “We didn’t expect snow for a few more weeks, but it looks like winter’s coming early this year.” 

Geralt thanked her again before going back upstairs. He would wait to wake Jaskier until all of their stuff was packed so he could get as much sleep as possible. 

He went over their route in his head as he packed up their bags, making sure to leave out some warm clothes for Jaskier to change into. They would only travel together for maybe a day before they would part ways to go to their respective destinations. Geralt immediately recoiled at the thought of Jaskier traveling alone in this condition, especially without a horse. 

True, it was only a broken arm, but the whole ordeal of the injury, and how he had sustained it would leave anyone shaken. He didn’t want to leave Jaskier alone in this state. What if something happened? What if the weather got worse and he got stranded in a blizzard, never reaching his destination? Geralt would never forgive himself. 

The solution to this problem wasn’t perfect, but it was simple. He just hoped Jaskier would go for it. 

***

Jaskier woke up to Geralt above him, saying his name and gently shaking his shoulder. His hand was cold, even through Jaskier’s shirt. 

“We need to leave Jaskier. It’s time to get up.” 

He sounded stressed, but not angry. Jaskier was confused. 

“Huh?” 

“It’s an early Winter,” he explained. “We need to leave now if we want to get to Kaer Morhen before the pass is too treacherous.” 

“You’re going to Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier replied, his voice thick with sleep and slow from confusion. He was supposed to be going to the coast, but he figured he’d get a little more time to rest before he and Geralt went their separate ways. 

“Unless you have any objections, we’re both going to Kaer Morhen. And we need to leave now. Everything is packed and ready to go; we just need you.” 

He sat up, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. He felt like he’d been trampled by Roach. What he wanted was to lay in bed all day, not spend hours traveling. 

Geralt threw some clothes onto the bed next to him. 

“We leave as soon as you’re dressed.” 

Jaskier stood, trying his best to ignore the pain as he pulled on the clothes. 

“Here.” Geralt handed him something. “It’s a sling. It should help with the swelling.” 

Jaskier accepted it, slipping his bandaged arm into it. It was comfortable. 

Geralt watched him struggle with the buttons on his coat for a few moments before apparently losing patience and coming over to fasten them himself. 

“Thanks.” Jaskier was grateful for the assistance, but annoyed that he was unable to do it himself. 

“Ready to go?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier wanted to say no—to climb back into bed and stay there until nothing hurt anymore—but Geralt was leaving, and Jaskier would be damned if he wasn’t with him. 

***

Geralt didn’t realize how fond he had grown of Jaskier’s chatter until it was gone. It had annoyed him at first, when Jaskier had first started traveling with him, but somewhere along the line he must have started to like it, because now it was gone and he missed it. The quiet felt strange and unfamiliar. 

Maybe he would have tried to fill the silence himself if they weren’t traveling so fast. Jaskier sat atop Roach and Geralt traveled by foot. He set their pace so quick he was practically running. The path to Kaer Morhen was just going to get more snowy. They couldn’t afford to waste time. 

Jaskier had protested at first, insisting he was fine to go on foot as he usually did when he traveled with Geralt. As willing as he was though, everything but his words told Geralt this wasn’t an option. He looked exhausted and clearly still in a lot of pain. Anyways, they would make better time this way. Geralt was much faster than Jaskier, even when Jaskier was at his best.

When they finally set up camp for the night, Geralt was so tired from their relentless pace, he could have fallen asleep on the ground as soon as they stopped. He scraped together a meal for himself and Jaskier, staying awake long enough to make sure the bard was comfortable in his bedroll before going to sleep himself. They had several more long days ahead of them. It was at least another week to Kaer Morhen. They would both need their rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was sort of just filler but please don't leave, I promise there is lots of pain and suffering and soft Geralt still to come.


	5. Chapter 5

Logically, Jaskier shouldn’t feel as miserable as he did. The pain in his arm was to be expected, and the cold was unavoidable, but these things didn’t explain why his head hurt and his muscles ached. These things were probably a side effect of the tiredness. The broken arm made it hard to get comfortable, especially sleeping on the ground. When he did sleep, he was haunted by the man he had killed. The past three nights since it had happened, he’d only managed to sleep for a couple of hours. If he got a good night’s sleep, he was sure he’d feel better. 

He felt bad for feeling sorry for himself when he was riding Roach and Geralt had to trudge through the snow alongside them. Every few hours they would stop to let Roach drink water and, although he knew the Witcher would never admit it, to let Geralt catch his breath. They were going at an unforgiving pace. Jaskier wondered how long they would be able to keep this up. 

They traveled in complete silence for the most part—Geralt working too hard to talk, and Jaskier lacking the mental and physical energy to vocalize his stream of consciousness as he usually did. 

When they stopped, Geralt would check in with him. He would ask how Jaskier felt, if he was in too much pain, if he needed anything. Jaskier couldn’t bear to tell the truth after watching Geralt practically running alongside Roach in the snow. He wouldn’t be able to stand himself if he told Geralt how miserable he was when Geralt was doing so much for him. After all, there wasn’t much he could do anyways. The situation was unpleasant, yes, but Geralt was doing everything he could to make it better for him. To turn around and tell him that, despite his best efforts, he was still exhausted and in pain, and he wanted more than anything to stop? It would be insulting. 

So every time Geralt asked him how he felt, he said he was fine, and then Geralt would nod, and then they would be back on the road. By the end of the third day though, Jaskier was unsure how much longer he could keep this up. It felt like every hour left him in more pain than the last. And he was so tired. He felt like he could just curl up in the snow and stay there until spring. He didn’t know for sure how much farther Kaer Morhen was, but he knew they still had quite a few days of travel. For his and Geralt’s sake he willed them to pass quickly and without incident. If these past three days of travel were any indicator though, he had a bad feeling this wouldn’t be the case. 

***

By the end of the third day Jaskier’s silence had gone from unsettling, to frustrating. Geralt knew he must still be in pain, and their traveling situation was far from ideal, but every time Geralt asked how he was, the bard would brush him off, insisting he was fine. Geralt knew he wasn’t fine. He wanted to help. 

When they stopped at the end of another long day of travel, Jaskier slid from Roach’s saddle and made his way over to a tree. He halfheartedly cleared the snow away and sat down at the base of the trunk, pulling his legs up and resting his forehead on his knees. Geralt was tired too, but he was making this trip in practically perfect health. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for the bard. 

“Are you doing alright?” Geralt repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“I’m doing fine,” Jaskier responded, not lifting his head. 

He clearly wasn’t. 

Geralt sighed. “Dammit Jaskier. I can’t help if you don’t let me know what's wrong.” It was the first time he let his frustration show. This seemed to get the bard’s attention. 

He looked up, appearing frustrated as well. 

“Just tell me what’s going on.” 

He looked at Geralt for a long moment, seeming to be deliberating whether or not to tell the truth. When he did speak, it wasn’t with the falsely cheery voice he had been using, but with an exasperated, defeated tone which matched the rest of his demeanor. 

“Honestly?” he began. “I’m exhausted. All day I think about how much pain I’m in, and how if I could just sleep I would finally feel better. But as soon as I lay down, the pain seems to get a million times worse because it’s all I have to think about,” his voice cracked on the last word, and it looked like he was fighting back tears. “ When I finally do get to sleep I’m woken up by nightmares about the man I killed,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion as if he were talking past a lump in his throat. “And it’s like reliving that night over and over again. I wake up more tired than I was before I went to bed and then we’re traveling again.” He buried his face in his hand, his breath catching. When he moved his hand to look back at Geralt, his face fell. 

“I’m sorry Geralt. I didn’t mean that. I’m so grateful—” 

He could see the tears falling down the bard’s cheeks now, and Geralt pulled him close. He buried his face in the Witcher’s chest. 

“Don’t ever apologize to me Jaskier. Not for this.” 

The tears had turned to full on crying now. Jaskier tried to catch his breath so he could reply, but he couldn’t get any words past the sobs in his throat. Geralt filled the silence for him. 

“You deserve rest, and I’m so sorry I can’t give it to you. You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of this. You shouldn’t have had to kill that man, but you did the right thing. I know we didn’t talk about it, and that’s my fault, but you can’t beat yourself up for this. You did what you had to do in the moment, and saved me in the process.” 

His kind words made Jaskier more emotional. All attempts to curb his crying were failing miserably, but Geralt didn’t seem to mind. He just held Jaskier close, speaking in Jaskier’s place, saying anything he could think of to comfort him, and for that Jaskier was so grateful. 

After a while, Geralt’s voice trailed off and Jaskier got his breath back, the sobs slowly diminishing. When Jaskier finally finished crying, Geralt got up just long enough to start a fire and retrieve their bedrolls and some trail rations. When they had finished their meager meal, they resumed their position of Jaskier laying against Geralt’s side, and pressed against each other in the cold, the two drifted toward sleep. 

***

The crying came as a surprise to Geralt. Once it was happening though, he realized it was odd that it hadn’t happened sooner. He tried his best to comfort the bard, but words were Jaskier’s forte, not his. Just being there seemed to be enough though. 

After Jaskier was all cried out, and Geralt had gotten a meal into him, he resumed his position of holding the bard close and trying his best to be a warm and comforting presence. It had seemed to help him sleep the first night in the inn, and he hoped it would do the same now. 

As he fell asleep though, Geralt couldn’t help but notice—despite the still dropping temperature—how unnaturally warm Jaskier’s body felt against his.


	6. Chapter 6

After the crying episode on the third night, Jaskier’s condition continued to worsen. Geralt noticed the fever that night, and while it came and went, the cough which showed up the next morning didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Jaskier insisted it was just the cold air, but the coughing fits made Geralt’s chest ache just listening. 

What hurt worse, was not knowing how to help. Jaskier needed to get inside, preferably with some medicine and a healer. Out here there were none of these things. Geralt was guessing, trying to figure out how to keep Jaskier going for the next few days until this hellish journey was finally over. When the chills hit, Geralt unclasped his cloak and draped it around Jaskier’s shoulders. He wasn’t actually sure if the cloak would help the fever or not, but he couldn’t bear to watch Jaskier shiver like that. 

On the fifth day Geralt began to spend a few hours a day sitting behind Jaskier on Roach so the bard could sleep leaning back against him. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to ride — trying to keep Jaskier upright and comfortable against his chest while the smaller man was practically dead weight, his head lolling back against Geralt’s shoulder — and it slowed their pace a bit, but if Jaskier was barely sleeping before, he must be getting no sleep now that he was up coughing all night. The slower pace was less than ideal, but Geralt couldn’t get the image of Jaskier falling unconscious out of the saddle and breaking his neck out of his head.

To prevent this, when he wasn’t riding behind him, Geralt would try to keep Jaskier engaged in conversation. This too slowed their pace, but it was what needed to be done. He told the bard stories about monster hunts, romantic escapades, near death experiences, anything to keep him lucid. Mostly though, he told Jaskier about Kaer Morhen. On the seemingly unchanging, snow covered trail, the Witcher’s keep often seemed like a dream—unattainable and so far out of reach. Geralt wanted Jaskier to know it was a real place and they would be there soon. Anything to give him hope. If he could just hold on for a few more days. They would be there soon. 

***

Jaskier figured if he could just accept his own misery, he might feel a little less awful. This was easier said than done. He thought if he could confront the fact that he was in practically constant pain, and make peace with being like this for the foreseeable future, he would be able to finally think of something else. No such luck. 

Of course, things weren’t all bad. He liked listening to Geralt’s stories. Out of the two of them, Jaskier was the one who was prone to oversharing. Hearing more about Geralt’s life felt like a sort of balancing of the scales. Jaskier also found he slept better in the daytime, upright against Geralt’s chest, the air cold, but the sun warm on his face, than he did at night laying on the frozen earth. 

However, these upsides weren’t enough to cancel out the fever, which made his bones ache and sent him from shivering so badly his muscles were cramping one minute, to sweating through his shirt the next. Or the cough, which made him feel as if his lungs were trying to expel themselves from his body, and left his throat raw. Speaking was nearly impossible and eating felt like swallowing glass, but Geralt always made sure there was a steady supply of cold water for him to drink to try and soothe his throat and suppress the coughing. 

In fact, Geralt consistently seemed to have exactly what Jaskier needed. The Witcher’s superhuman senses had always given Jaskier the impression that Geralt was a little bit psychic, but now especially it seemed as if he were anticipating all of Jaskier’s needs before he said a word. This was especially convenient since the bard’s voice now sounded more like a dying frog’s than it did a performer’s. 

Traveling through the wilderness sick and injured, it would be easy to become afraid. But with Geralt there taking care of him, even though he was miserable, Jaskier knew he had nothing to fear. 

***

Nighttime was the hardest part of the whole journey. If it weren’t for Roach needing rest, Geralt would be tempted to travel non-stop. Jaskier slept just as well during the day as he did at night, if not better, and Geralt could go without sleep for a few days if that was what it took. As it was, he was barely sleeping anyways. Between trying to regulate Jaskier’s fever, and being jolted awake by his coughing, Geralt was lucky to get two or three hours of sleep a night. It was okay though, his body was built for this — Jaskier’s on the other hand was not. 

Currently, he was asleep, sitting upright slumped against Geralt’s side. Sitting up seemed to help with the coughing, but even now his breaths sounded ragged and painful. The air was frigid, but Jaskier still radiated heat, and every so often he would shift and his face would twist into a pained expression. He was hurting, even in sleep. 

Geralt closed his eyes. He kept his arm wrapped around Jaskier for comfort and warmth (not that the bard had any shortage of heat as of late) being careful to avoid his broken arm. He was nearly asleep, as he always seemed to be when something happened, but he was brought back to consciousness by Jaskier’s raspy voice. 

“Geralt.” 

He opened his eyes, looking down at the bard to try and identify what he needed. His breathing had accelerated, and his muscles tensed. Geralt worried this was the beginning of another one of those awful coughing fits. It took him a few seconds to realize Jaskier was still sleeping. 

“I’m right here,” he replied, his voice quiet and calm. 

He pulled Jaskier close, letting him know that even in the cold and the dark, he wasn’t alone. 

***

Jaskier dreamed he was drowning. He was floating somewhere in between consciousness and unconsciousness, freezing, whether from the very real cold air, or the frigid water from his dream he didn’t know. Either way, his lungs ached. They felt as if they were filling up with water. He needed to clear them, but the water surrounding him prevented this. His body was begging for oxygen. He was going to die here at the bottom of this freezing cold ocean—that was, unless someone could drag him up out of the depths. 

“Geralt.” 

The Witcher cut through the water in his dream, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s body and pulling him to the surface. They broke free, and Jaskier gulped air, desperate to fill his lungs.  
“I’m right here.” 

Jaskier couldn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. Geralt was here. He was safe now. He could rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been busy, and I wanted to make sure I got this chapter right.


	7. Chapter 7

After ten days on the road, which felt more like six months, the gates of Kaer Morhen finally came into view. Geralt should be relieved. This was what he had been holding out for, what he had been sacrificing his comfort, energy, and health to get to. If they had reached their destination three days ago he’d no doubt be letting out the metaphorical breath he’d been holding since the night Jaskier broke his arm, but Kaer Morhen no longer promised to hold the answer to all his problems. Jaskier was worse. Much worse. And while the shelter and warmth of Kaer Morhen might be exactly what he needed, they might have arrived several days too late. 

Both men were on Roach as they approached the entrance to the Witcher’s keep, and Geralt was shocked that Jaskier was still conscious. The fever and cough had both disappeared in the past two days, and while this seemed like it should be a good thing, Geralt knew that these were two deeply disturbing turns of events. The bard didn’t shiver anymore. He didn’t cough anymore. Geralt was surprised he had the energy to hold his own head up. His fingers and lips had long since turned blue. Every minute he spent out in the cold posed a significant risk to his health. Geralt was desperate to get him inside and in front of a fire. 

They met Lambert at the gate, standing right in front of where they needed to be. 

“How nice of you to join us Geralt,” he called out, smirking as Geralt pulled up on Roach’s reins and dismounted. Jaskier followed his lead, once again surprising Geralt by not immediately collapsing. He looked absolutely dead on his feet. 

“I don’t have time for this Lambert. Let us through.” He had no patience for the younger Witcher’s antics today. 

“Oh, but who’s this? I can’t let in just any stranger. Who’s your friend Geralt?” 

Geralt hit Lambert in the stomach. Hard. It wasn’t enough to cause any serious damage, but it knocked the breath out of him and sent him stumbling backwards. 

“There’s more of that waiting if I come back down and find Roach isn’t properly stabled,” he called over his shoulder as he and Jaskier walked past the younger Witcher. 

They were barely inside the gate when Jaskier stumbled. Geralt had been waiting days for the bard to crash. He figured he was lucky Jaskier waited until they were at Kaer Morhen to do it, but if it had happened earlier he might have been spared some of the suffering of the last few days on the road. 

They were just out of Lambert’s earshot when Jaskier’s foot caught on something—a crack in the floor maybe, or perhaps his own feet, Geralt didn’t know—and he began to fall. He was unconscious before he hit the floor. Or rather, when he would have hit the floor. Geralt already had his arm around the bard, so when he collapsed Geralt was able to catch him before he hit the ground. He scooped the smaller man up against his chest, still being careful to avoid unintentionally hurting his broken arm. 

His body was cold in Geralt’s arms and completely limp, his mouth half open and his good arm dangling at his side. Geralt tried to ignore how much it felt like he was carrying a corpse. 

He carried Jaskier up the stairs to the room where he himself usually stayed. Once inside, he used igni to start a roaring fire. Vesemir had drilled into the young Witchers during training that using igni inside was quite literally playing with fire, and had great potential to end badly, but Geralt didn’t have time to start a fire the old fashioned way now, not with Jaskier laying there blue and too cold to shiver. 

Once the fire was going he started freeing Jaskier from his wet clothing. They’d gotten caught in a particularly slushy snow flurry late on day eight, and hadn’t really been able to get their clothes dry since. Geralt suspected this had been the beginning of Jaskier’s serious decline, but things had been heading that way already even without the snow’s help. 

He left all the wet clothes in a pile in the corner and set Jaskier down in an armchair as he pulled the mattress off his bed and onto the floor right in front of the fire. 

Jaskier made no movements or indications of life as Geralt laid him on the mattress and draped blankets and furs on top of him and under his shoulders and chest so his torso could be elevated like he had liked to sleep on the road. Geralt knew he’d warm up faster in a hot bath, but he worried with how cold he’d been for so long, that would be too much of a shock for his system. Not to mention how excruciating it would be if he woke up. No, the fire would work. It had to. 

Geralt sat on the floor next to Jaskier’s motionless body. There was nothing he could do now but wait. He listened closely, able to hear every breath and heartbeat in the silent room. The bard’s breathing was slow and shallow, his heartbeat was fluttery, but both persisted. Geralt held his own breath while he listened, afraid that each breath and heartbeat might be the last. 

He was so focused on listening to the bard’s quiet signs of life, that when a loud knock came at the door Geralt nearly jumped out of his skin. Whoever it was entered before Geralt had a chance to call them in. Lambert.   
He stood just inside the room looking much less smug than he had at the gate. 

“Did Vesemir hear about your utter lack of hospitality and send you up here to apologize?” 

No answer. So yes. 

“Vesemir wants to speak with you,” Lambert said after a long second of silence. 

“Send him up then,” Geralt responded. 

“But—“ 

Geralt cut him off. He wasn’t going anywhere, not with Jaskier as sick as he was. 

“If he wants to talk to me send him here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Lambert nodded. 

“I’ll tell him.” 

Geralt knew it was impolite to make the oldest Witcher come to him, but he was afraid to leave Jaskier for even a moment. 

Vesemir knocked on the door a few minutes later, actually waiting to be called in before entering, unlike Lambert. 

He walked over to Geralt, standing over him and observing the scene in front of him. A disheveled Witcher and a dying bard. 

“Come Geralt. There are things you need to do.” 

Geralt looked up at him, incredulous. The only thing he needed to do was make sure Jaskier had everything he needed. 

“There’s nothing more you can do right now. I’ll watch over him.” 

“I’m not leaving him Vesemir,” Geralt responded. 

“What have you given up for him Geralt? Your horse, your cloak, your sleep? You haven’t even changed out of your wet clothes yet. Killing yourself won’t heal him. If you want to help him you need to take care of yourself.” 

As usual, Vesemir was right. But Geralt didn’t want to leave. He was afraid Jaskier would get worse while he was gone, that his next breath wouldn’t come if he wasn’t here to listen for it. 

“You’re not alone anymore Geralt. There are people here who want to help.” 

Geralt reluctantly got up and walked over to the older Witcher, who placed a comforting hand on Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Now go get some dry clothes. Don’t come back until you’ve had a hot meal, a hot bath, some sleep, and another hot meal. I promise your friend will be cared for in your absence. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt responded. “His name is Jaskier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I'm having so much fun writing this. I'm really bad at responding to comments, but I want you to know I read them all and I appreciate them so so much.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the first time Geralt had been alone in days. He hated being away from Jaskier when he was so sick, but he had to admit that handing the reins over to Vesemir did feel like a weight was being lifted off of his shoulders. It seemed selfish to think it, but it felt good to finally be able to worry about himself. 

He started a fire for himself—the old fashioned way this time—and then stripped off his wet clothing. The heat from the fire on his skin felt incredible. He’d been so worried about Jaskier, he’d barely even noticed his own condition. But now that he was alone, all of his feelings and emotions from the past few days washed over him. 

He wrapped a blanket around his waist and sat down in front of the fire, letting it warm his bare chest. Closing his eyes, he began to check in with himself for the first time in what felt like weeks. 

He really did feel awful. His bones ached from the cold and his muscles from the strenuous travel. It took some concentration, but over the course of a few minutes he was able to, starting at his legs and working his way up to his shoulders and neck, relax all of his muscles. Now that he was no longer so on edge, he was able to appreciate just how tired he was. He was suddenly struck with the desire to just lay down in front of the fireplace and fall asleep. No. He needed to get back to Jaskier. But first there were still some things Vesemir insisted he do. He reluctantly got up off the floor, ignoring his protesting muscles and joints—they were nothing a good hot bath couldn’t fix—and got dressed. 

It took a few minutes to find a dry set of clothes, but once he did he headed downstairs to the kitchen. The last few days on the road sort of blended together in his mind, but now that he really thought about it, Geralt couldn’t remember the last meal he had eaten. Much like his sore muscles, it didn’t really come to mind until he stopped to consider it. He was thinking about food now though, and he realized how hollow he felt. Hopefully it wouldn’t take him too long to put together a meal. 

The universe seemed to be on his side today though, because not only was there food in the kitchen, but there was also Eskel, waiting for him with a pot of soup.   
“Geralt! Good to see you. How’s your friend?” Eskel asked, setting a steaming bowl of soup on the table for him. 

“Word travels fast around here,” Geralt said, sitting down and taking a bite of the soup. 

“Lambert told me he saw you two at the gate.” 

“Did he now?” He wondered how much Lambert had said. He probably hadn’t mentioned the part where he had been supremely unhelpful and paid the price for it. 

“Yeah,” Eskel continued, unfazed, “I’m not sure where he went. Vesemir said he wouldn’t be down for dinner, but Lambert should be here.” 

Geralt laughed. “He’s probably avoiding me.” He then explained the parts of the story Lambert had conveniently left out. 

Eskel smiled. “I guess it’s just you and me for dinner then.” 

“All the better,” Geralt replied, dishing himself up a second bowl of soup, “because I don’t intend to leave enough soup for him anyway.” 

***

Jaskier woke up from yet another dream about drowning. These had become the standard fare over the past few days, and seemed to follow him more and more into his waking hours. He had trouble taking deep breaths and his chest hurt. It was panic inducing to say the least. 

He hovered for a bit between waking and sleeping, trying to pull himself from the dream, trying to get air into his lungs. The water beared down on him on all sides, the weight of it pressing on his muscles, sending a deep ache through his whole body. The currents were pushing him closer and closer to the dark depths of the water. Just before he hit the bottom though, his eyes fluttered open. 

He gulped air, or tried to at least. He couldn’t seem to get a breath in. It felt as if his ribs were being squeezed by a giant invisible hand, and the more he panicked, trying to get a breath in, the more constricted they became. He was suffocating. 

“Breathe little bird.” 

He didn’t have the strength to sit up on his own, but a hand on his back held him so he could be upright. 

He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps. 

“Slow down. You’re alright.” 

Jaskier’s eyes were wide, the panic threatening to overcome him. It was like that day a lifetime ago in Rinde. At least then he’d had the energy to cough and spit the blood from his mouth. Now he barely had the strength to hold his head up. 

“Look at me.” 

It wasn’t Geralt, but Jaskier was drowning and he would take any lifeline extended to him.

“Follow my breathing, alright? You need to slow down.”

Jaskier did his best to align his breathing with the man’s until he finally felt like he was getting air again.

“Good.” The man smiled. He had a comforting presence, and Jaskier appreciated the strong hand on his back. 

“Where’s Geralt,” Jaskier rasped, his throat sore and his voice barely audible. 

“He’s resting. You two have had a long journey.” 

That was certainly an understatement. 

“I’m Vesemir. I promised I’d watch over you while he slept.” 

All Jaskier managed to get out was a soft, “oh.” 

Now that he was awake and breathing again, he was able to take in his surroundings. He was laying in front of a fire, blankets piled on top of him. For the first time in days he didn’t feel cold. In fact, he felt a little too warm, but he couldn’t find the strength to push the blankets away. 

“May I?” Vesemir asked, reaching his hand out to feel Jaskier’s forehead. 

Jaskier nodded. The cool hand felt good on his too-warm skin. 

“Hmm,” Vesemir seemed to consider something for a moment. “Let’s get you up on the bed. No need to stay so close to the fire.” 

He lifted Jaskier up and set him down in an armchair, returning the mattress to the bed before depositing Jaskier back on the bed. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jaskier realized he was naked, only covered by a thin blanket, but he was too sick to care. 

Even on the bed he sat up, his back resting against the headboard. He wanted more than anything to just lay down—to be comfortable for the first time since he broke his arm more than a week ago—but he feared what would happen if he did. It was hard enough to breathe as it was, and he would do anything to keep that terrible drowning feeling at bay.


	9. Chapter 9

Geralt slept for too long. He could tell from the sweat on his chest and the stiffness in his neck that he had been sleeping for several hours, perhaps even the whole night. 

He stretched, not bothering to change out of his sleep clothes before walking over to Jaskier’s room. Vesemir had told him to eat another hot meal after he slept, but Geralt hadn’t anticipated sleeping for so long. He didn’t want to put off seeing Jaskier any more than he already had. He had seemed so fragile when Geralt left. He worried what he might return to find today. 

He entered Jaskier’s room to find Vesemir and Eskel standing over a sleeping Jaskier. Vesemir seemed to be giving Eskel some sort of instructions, but he stopped as Geralt approached. 

“Wolf! You’re looking well.” Vesemir left the bedside to greet Geralt. “How did you sleep?” 

“Fine,” Geralt replied, sidestepping Vesemir and walking over to the bed. 

Jaskier was sleeping, his forehead covered with a sheen of sweat and his lips still tinged blue. 

“How is he doing Vesemir?” 

Vesemir glanced over to Jaskier and then shared a look with Eskel before answering. 

“Maybe we should speak privately.” 

Geralt’s stomach dropped, but he followed Vesemir into the hallway without protest. 

“What’s going on, Vesemir. Tell me, how’s Jaskier doing really?” 

Vesemir was silent for a long moment. 

“He’s not well, Wolf. The cold affected him greatly. He must have been very sick even before arriving here. When did the coughing stop?” 

“How did you know?” Geralt remembered when Jaskier had stopped coughing. It was about two days before they arrived at Kaer Morhen. At first he had taken this as a good sign that Jaskier was recovering. Now he knew better. 

“His lungs are obstructed,” Vesemir explained. “Before, the coughing was keeping them clear, but now he’s too weak and the fluid is collecting there.” 

Geralt just looked at him, struck dumb. 

“He’s drowning. That’s why his lips are blue even though he’s burning with fever. He’s breathing, but he still isn’t getting enough air.” 

Geralt pressed his lips together and took a deep breath before answering. 

“What can we do?” he asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice. 

“Well, we have a few options,” Vesemir began. “We can wait and see if the fever breaks and he regains his strength enough to start coughing again and clear his lungs on his own.” 

“And how are things looking now?” Geralt interrupted. “Is he getting stronger? I was asleep the whole night; did he improve at all while I was gone?” 

Vesemir sighed. “He warmed up well. He’s not going to lose any fingers or toes but—“ 

“But what Vesemir, tell me the truth.” 

“But the fever is back and still rising. And he’s having a difficult time breathing. He’s in a lot of pain. He’s sleeping now, but he was awake for most of the night. I tried to get him to eat, but it’s a struggle enough to get him to breathe. I think it’s safe to say his condition is still worsening.” 

Geralt turned around, taking a few steps away from Vesemir with his hands clenched into fists, collecting himself before turning around to face the older Witcher again. 

“You said there were a few options. What are our other ones?” He asked. 

“There is a potion,” Vesemir answered, his voice slow and measured. “It would give him a burst of energy, and irritate his lungs. It’s not pleasant, but it might help him to clear out what’s obstructing his breathing.” 

“Okay, then we do that,” Geralt said. 

“Now wait a moment. It’s a harsh treatment. It has just as much potential to do harm as it does to help. And either way it will be excruciating for him.” 

Geralt was getting frustrated now. He needed guidance, but the way Vesemir told it, both options would cause Jaskier pain, and both had the potential to kill him. 

“So what do I do then?” He asked, exasperatedly. 

“I don’t know Wolf. I don’t know Jaskier well enough to gauge whether or not this is something he can handle,” Vesemir responded, meeting Geralt’s angry statement with a calm and measured tone. 

“You’re the one who cared for him last night,” Geralt accused. “Do you think he’ll get stronger on his own?” 

Vesemir took another long pause. 

“No.” 

Geralt’s heart sank. 

“I think it’s progressed too far for him to recover on his own.” 

His head spun. Geralt walked over to the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He buried his head in his hands. This was too much to wrap his mind around. Jaskier couldn’t die. If he had just been able to get him here faster. If he had been able to protect him better from the cold none of this would be happening. 

Vesemir sat down next to him. 

“This isn’t your fault Wolf,” he said, as if reading Geralt’s mind. He put a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “I can give him something. He’ll go peacefully in his sleep.” 

He shoved the hand away and stood up. Vesemir was right, he didn’t know Jaskier. Jaskier was stronger than this. 

“No. We’ll do the other treatment. Jaskier can handle it. He’ll get better.” 

He moved to walk back into Jaskier room, but Vesemir put another hand on his shoulder, this time not to comfort him, but to hold him back. 

“Geralt, wait. If this is your choice I will respect it, but before we do anything I want you to know exactly what this course of action would entail.” 

He then went on to explain what the potion was and how it would affect Jaskier. It would bring on coughing fits much more violent and painful than the ones he had experienced before. He told Geralt how it could clear his lungs, but it was equally likely to tear them. It would exacerbate his fever, and even if everything worked perfectly, it had serious potential to cause permanent damage to his lungs and vocal chords, and perhaps even his brain. 

It made Geralt sick to his stomach to hear, but it didn’t change his mind. He swallowed hard. 

“After all is said and done, it is Jaskier’s decision,” Geralt said. 

Vesemir nodded. 

“But I know what course of action I will recommend.” 

“You know him better than I,” Vesemir said. “If you think he is strong enough to handle it then I will prepare the potion myself.” 

“Jaskier is much stronger than you know. And I’m sure he’ll agree that this is the right thing to do.” Geralt said, trying as hard to assure himself as he did to assure Vesemir. “I want to speak with him first though. Should I wake him, or wait for him to wake on his own?” 

Vesemir looked at him solemnly. “You had better wake him. I’m not sure how much time we have left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, this got sad quick. Sorry fam


	10. Chapter 10

Jaskier’s first night at Kaer Morhen was one of the hardest of his life. He longed for Geralt to be here, to suffer through this with him. When he asked, Vesemir told him that he was sleeping, and logically he knew that Geralt needed to rest, but selfishly he wished that his Witcher would wake up and come be with him. 

Jaskier was hurting yes, but he’d been in pain for days. More than anything now he was afraid. Vesemir helped him to keep from crossing back over back into panic, but the fear he felt was something different, something deeper. He knew his condition was more serious than Vesemir let on. He didn’t need the old man to tell him that his fingers going numb even though sweat soaked through his shirt was a bad sign. Not to mention the pain. He could barely tell which arm was broken anymore. Everything hurt. Nobody could live with pain like this, not for long. 

Vesemir’s words were comforting. “Breathe little bird. Look at me. Listen to my voice.” Still, he craved the familiarity of Geralt’s presence. It was no fun to be miserable in front of a stranger. 

A little while after he woke up, once he had worked through the panic and remembered how to breathe, Vesemir tried to get him to eat. He lifted the spoon to Jaskier’s mouth, feeding him a bowl of clear broth bite by bite. His body didn’t seem to want to accept the nourishment though. The vomiting just made him feel all the more like he was drowning. 

After that it was just a matter of trying to keep his head on straight—not letting the pain cloud his thinking, but not sleeping either. No, he couldn’t return to those terrible drowning dreams. 

Still, despite his best efforts he was fading in and out of consciousness. At times he was aware of everything, every word Vesemir said to him, every heartbeat, every breath. At other times he just seemed to be floating in a haze of pain. Where was Geralt? 

After what felt like hours of this, Vesemir approached his bedside with a small vial of clear liquid. 

“It’s time to sleep, little bird.” 

No, Jaskier couldn’t sleep. He was still waiting for Geralt. 

He did his best to press his lips shut. Unable to find words, he groaned his dissent. 

Vesemir gave him a kind hearted, but pitying look. 

“You need rest. Geralt will be here when you wake.” 

Jaskier remembered the terrible dreams, his expression pleading. 

Vesemir lifted the vial to his lips. 

“You can trust me little bird. I won’t let you drown.” 

***

When they re-entered the room, Vesemir walked over to Eskel, while Geralt headed immediately to the bedside. 

“Thank you Eskel. You should go get some breakfast,” Vesemir said in a low voice. 

Geralt would have to thank Eskel too. Caring for sick boys was kind of Vesemir’s life’s purpose, but Eskel was just helping out of the goodness of his heart. Geralt wondered absentmindedly where Lambert was. 

“Here,” Vesemir said, handing Geralt a small vial. “This should wake him.” 

“You gave him something?” 

“He was resisting sleep. He needed to rest,” Vesemir asked. 

“You should have come and got me. I could have talked to him.” 

“You needed to rest too.” 

Geralt grit his teeth. Arguing with Vesemir wouldn’t help anything. He grabbed the vial and gently tipped it into Jaskier’s mouth. 

After a few seconds passed and nothing happened he shot a glare at Vesemir. 

“Patience Wolf. Give him a minute.” 

Sure enough, after a few more moments Jaskier began to stir. His breath quickened and his eyes opened, slowly, as if his eyelids were a great weight.

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s lips formed his name, but no words came out. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt couldn’t help but smile. 

The bard looked terrible. His cheeks were pallid and his lips were blue, but there was light behind his eyes. Vesemir was wrong. There was life still left in him. 

“How are you feeling?” Geralt asked. 

“I’m happy,” Jaskier said, his voice cracking, “that you’re here.” 

Vesemir walked up to the other side of the bed and Jaskier looked over to him, closing his eyes as the older man laid a hand on his forehead. 

“Is he?” Geralt mouthed silently, looking at Vesemir. 

Vesemir shook his head, his expression grave. Geralt’s face fell, but he put a smile back on as soon as Jaskier opened his eyes. 

“I’ll go see if I can’t find us some breakfast then,” Vesemir said. “I’m sure Geralt didn’t bother to eat before coming to see you little bird.” He gave Geralt a knowing look. “And this way you two can speak alone.” 

Geralt cleared his throat as Vesemir closed the door behind him. 

“I spoke with Vesemir,” Geralt began, not quite sure of how to proceed, “about your condition.” 

“Geralt I know.” His voice was almost too low to hear, and yet the sorrow in it was clear. “He hasn’t told me but I know.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry Geralt. That I wasn’t stronger.” 

Geralt moved his chair closer, right up to the edge of the bed, and grabbed Jaskier’s hand. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ll get better.” 

Jaskier looked at him wistfully. “I know what’s coming,” he said, the tears now rolling down his cheeks. “I’m just glad to be here with you,” he choked out. “For the end.” 

Geralt squeezed his hand. “Jaskier, you’re being dramatic. Vesemir told me of a potion. It will help you to breathe until you regain your strength.” 

This seemed to pique Jaskier’s interest. 

“Then why hasn’t he given it to me yet?” He asked. 

Even speaking seemed to cost him a great deal of energy. His breaths were starting to come in short gasps again. 

“Hey, hey,” Geralt tried to calm him. “It’s alright.” He put his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, gently stroking Jaskier’s collarbone with his thumb as he waited for the bard to catch his breath. 

Once his breathing was even again, Geralt continued. 

“He hasn’t given it to you yet, because there would be some,” he took a long pause, “unpleasant side effects.” 

Jaskier gave him a questioning look. 

Geralt then went on to summarize what Vesemir had told him that morning—how Jaskier’s lungs were obstructed, but the potion could help to clear them. 

“The coughing fits would return, probably worse this time,” he explained, “but the coughing would help you to breathe again. You’ll get better Jaskier.” 

Now it was Jaskier’s turn to give Geralt a pitying look. 

“Why hasn’t he really,” Jaskier asked. Talking seemed like it took a great effort, but he continued. “I can handle unpleasantness. Vesemir knows that. Why Geralt?” 

“It could harm you,” Geralt admitted. “It would be very painful. And it could hurt your lungs, or your vocal chords or your brain, but if we don’t at least try—” 

“I’ll die,” Jaskier cut in. “I know.”

It was the first time either of them had said it out loud, but he knew it had been on both of their minds. Still, the words cut like a knife. 

“We have to at least try, Jaskier,” Geralt pleaded. “I know you can do this.” 

Jaskier didn’t reply at first, instead he just looked at Geralt, as if he were trying to memorize his face. 

“Please Jaskier.” 

After another long moment, the bard finally spoke, not looking Geralt in the eyes. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Geralt smiled, silently praising the gods. 

“You’re sure. Even with the side effects?” he asked, not wanting Jaskier to go through the pain, without knowing all that the treatment could bring. 

Jaskier nodded. 

“I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out to be so much longer than I thought it would be. Lmao, sorry, I promise I'll get to the point eventually


	11. Chapter 11

The potion looked menacing, even trapped behind the glass of the vial. It was a deep red color, and it turned Jaskier’s stomach just to look at it. Every instinct he had told him not to drink it.  
But Geralt said it might save him, and he trusted Geralt. 

Vesemir had returned a few minutes after Jaskier had made his decision about trying this treatment.  
He explained in better detail what would happen if he took the potion, while Geralt sat quietly next to the bed, eating the plate of food Vesemir had brought to him. 

“Are you ready little bird?” Vesemir asked. 

It had taken a little over an hour for Vesemir to brew the potion, and Jaskier had drifted in and out of sleep while Geralt finished his breakfast and sat dutifully at Jaskier’s side. Now though, there seemed to be nothing standing between himself and this terrifying treatment. 

No. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to do this, to possibly rip his lungs open, to perhaps permanently damage his vocal chords, to send his fever skyrocketing. More than all of these things though, he didn’t want to die. 

“Yes,” Jaskier responded. 

“Alright, then there’s no point in waiting.” 

He brought over a basin and sat it in Jaskier’s lap. 

“It’s going to give you energy,” Vesemir said, unstoppering the vial. “Use the energy, but don’t push it. That’s how you hurt yourself. Just relax and let it do the work.” 

Jaskier nodded, trying to keep his nerves under control as Vesemir brought the potion to his mouth, tipping the red liquid past his lips. 

His body immediately rejected it. It was as if he were trying to swallow a red hot piece of coal, burning all the way down his throat and into his stomach. Vesemir was right, it did give him a burst of energy—the kind of energy one might get from getting woken up with a bucket of ice water on their head. But this wasn’t ice. It was fire. The energy was jarring and uncomfortable, as if his whole body was buzzing. 

He began to cough. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced in his life, and it made his previous coughing fits look like child’s play in hindsight. They shook his whole body, sending stabs of pain through his throat and ribs. 

His lips were going numb as he tried to focus on sucking in air during the micro-seconds of respite between the violent, convulsive coughs. He bent over the basin as he began to retch. It was impossible to tell what was coming from his stomach and what was coming from his lungs, but Jaskier didn’t care, he was just trying his best not to choke. 

How much longer was this going to last? He doubted he could take much more of this. Black spots danced in his vision as he tried to fight against the merciless coughing.  
Geralt had been wrong. He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t handle any more of this. He was dying. No, he couldn’t die while he was still coughing like this. Death would be a release from this terrible, excruciating coughing. But it showed no sign of easing any time soon. 

***

Geralt didn’t question his decision to advise Jaskier to take the potion until he saw it actually in effect. It had seemed like the obvious choice—the only choice. He had been angry at Vesemir for advising him against it, but even with the older Witcher’s warnings, nothing could have prepared him for actually seeing it in action. 

It was as if Jaskier was possessed by an evil spirit, intent on tearing his lungs from his chest. His whole body shook with the violent coughs, his face quickly turning red. Geralt had no idea how the bard hadn’t suffocated yet. There seemed to be no space for him to breathe between the coughing and retching. 

Instinctively, he wanted to help, to comfort Jaskier in some way, but he didn’t want to touch him for fear of hurting him, and he doubted Jaskier would be able to hear him if he tried to say anything. So he just stood there, in shock, trying desperately to convince himself that Jaskier could fight through this. 

“How long is this going to last?” he asked Vesemir after what felt like a lifetime, but had probably only been a minute or two. 

“It affects everyone differently,” Vesemir explained. “I gave him a dosage I thought would work well for him based on his weight, but we might have to adjust it going forward.” 

Geralt didn’t want to think about going forward. He couldn’t make Jaskier do this again. 

Tears streamed down Jaskier’s cheeks. Geralt couldn’t tell if they were from the coughing, or the pain, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it hurt to watch. How could Vesemir stand there so calmly? Geralt was so tense he was shaking from the stress and frustration. Surely, it had to end soon. 

He was able to keep his disquiet in check until blood began to flow from Jaskier’s nose. Geralt’s fingernails cut into his palms as he clenched his hands into fists. He couldn’t just stand and watch this. 

“Vesemir, what’s going on? Is this supposed to happen?” 

For the first time, Vesemir looked worried. This didn’t help to ease Geralt’s mind. 

Blood ran down Jaskier’s face and neck and into his mouth. He was going to choke on it. 

“Vesemir, do something!” Geralt pleaded. 

“Geralt, control yourself. He’s fine. It’ll be alright.” His words were reassuring, but his tone and body language told Geralt that this very much was not supposed to be happening. 

In what seemed like a matter of seconds, Jaskier’s face went from bright red to ghostly pale, the blood creating a stark contrast. 

“Vesemir!” 

“Eskel, get him out of here.” 

Geralt hadn’t even heard Eskel enter, but now, seemingly out of nowhere, he was here taking Geralt by the shoulders and trying to guide him out of the room. He shook the other Witcher off. 

No, Geralt couldn’t leave. Jaskier needed him. 

He watched in horror as Jaskier’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He must be unconscious, but the coughing didn’t stop. His body went limp and he fell against the headboard, the coughs still shaking his otherwise motionless body. Blood covered both Jaskier and the bedsheets now, making the sick room look like the scene of a murder. It may as well be. It was his own fault that this was happening. 

Vesemir rushed to the bedside, propping Jaskier up and tilting his head forward so the blood wouldn’t run down his throat. 

“Eskel!” 

Geralt let Eskel take him this time. He should be there for Jaskier—the guilt weighed heavy on him as he and Eskel left the room—but there was nothing he could do for Jaskier now.  
And this was something he couldn’t bear to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say for myself.


	12. Chapter 12

As soon as they were out of the room, Geralt shrugged Eskel’s hands off his shoulders. Suddenly the air inside was stifling. He needed to get outside. 

Eskel followed silently as Geralt rushed down the stairs and out the front door into the cold. He made it a few steps before he doubled over and threw up his breakfast into the snow. 

He had seen some truly terrible things in his time as a Witcher. He had faced things with stoicism which would send most people screaming. But nothing he had ever seen had affected him as viscerally as seeing Jaskier on that bed, unconscious, coughing, and covered in blood. Maybe it was because, as a Witcher, he tended to clean up other people’s messes, not witness the consequences of a mess he himself created. And the terrible things he saw done to people were done to strangers, not dear, close, beloved friends. 

When he finished throwing up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned around to find both Eskel and Lambert standing behind him in silence. 

“I didn’t realize I had an audience,” he grumbled, walking over to a nearby tree stump and sitting down. His hands were still shaking. He ran them through his hair, repressing the urge to pull it out in frustration. 

“Geralt,” Eskel began cautiously, “what happened up there, you couldn’t have known—” 

“No,” Geralt cut him off. He stood up and began to pace, too restless to stay sitting. “I did know. Vesemir warned me and I didn’t listen. I thought—” 

He lashed out, punching a nearby tree, getting a sick sort of satisfaction from the crack of the splitting bark and the stinging pain in his knuckles. 

“I knew the risks and I still put him through it.” He was shouting now, blood dripping from his knuckles. 

“You had good intentions. You did what you thought was right.” Eskel tried to comfort him, but Geralt wasn’t in the mood to be comforted. 

“My intentions don’t matter! Jaskier is up there covered in blood and probably dead and it’s my fault.” 

He hit the tree again, leaving a smear of his own blood on the bark this time. 

He looked back at Eskel, as if challenging the other Witcher to try and console him again. Eskel didn’t look afraid per se , but he also didn’t seem eager to stick around. 

“I’ll go upstairs and check to see if Vesemir needs any help.” He looked to Geralt as if asking for permission. When Geralt said nothing, Eskel hurried back inside. 

Geralt walked back over to the tree stump and sat down again. He looked over to Lambert, expecting him to leave too. Lambert however, seemed to have other ideas. Maybe he felt bad for what he’d done when Geralt and Jaskier had arrived, or maybe he just wanted to stick around to see if Geralt would punch another tree. Either way, he didn’t seem to be going anywhere. 

The youngest Witcher leaned up against another nearby tree and looked at Geralt expectantly. 

“Do you want to talk about him?” Lamber asked, surprising Geralt with the soft compassion in his voice. 

“I can’t relive that.” 

“No,” Lambert said, walking over to sit down next to Geralt on a fallen tree. “Not about what just happened. Do you want to talk about him?” 

Geralt considered this for a few seconds, but he had to admit, it might make him feel better. 

“Jaskier is one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met,” he began. “He’s talented, and smart, and kind. You can’t help but want to be around him. He wins people over so easily.”

“Even grumpy old Witchers?” Lambert teased. 

“Especially.” Geralt chuckled. “At first I tried to push him away. I was so used to being by myself; I didn’t want to rethink my whole way of life, but we just kept finding each other. I couldn’t seem to keep him away.”

“How long have you two been traveling as a pair then?” Lambert asked. 

“On and off for years,” Geralt replied. “Sometimes we won’t see each other for weeks or months, but we always seem to end up together eventually.” 

Lambert smiled, seeming to be genuinely interested in Geralt’s story. 

“Even after it became sort of a regular thing, I still tried to keep him at a distance. You know how our work can be. I didn’t want him to get hurt.” Geralt sighed. “I guess I should have tried a little harder.” 

“I’m not trying to get punched again,” Lambert said, “but Eskel is right. You can’t take all of the blame here.” 

“I deserve at least a portion of it,” Geralt responded. 

“Maybe so, but I don’t have the whole story. I’d wager that you did all you could though, and you did it with his best interest at heart.” 

This was a side of Lambert Geralt had never seen. He might enjoy it if everything else about the situation wasn’t so dire. 

“You can punch the tree again if you think it will make it feel better though.” 

There was the Lambert Geralt knew. 

The cold air bit at his cheeks as the two sat together in the snow, but it felt good. It kept him grounded. 

“So is he?” Lambert asked after a long pause. 

Geralt’s initial reaction was to get angry again. Lambert had no right to pry about a situation he was completely removed from—especially one which was so terrible for everyone involved. Lambert hadn’t been around to see the nightmarish scene upstairs though. He had no idea the horror that he, Eskel, and Vesemir had just witnessed. Geralt couldn’t blame him for being curious after seeing how he had reacted. 

“I don’t know,” Geralt replied honestly, too tired to get angry again. 

“I’m sure he—” Lambert began, but Geralt didn’t let him finish. 

“Don’t do this Lambert. You didn’t see him.” 

“He seems like a good guy. I’m sure he’ll be alright.” 

“We’ve both seen enough shit in our lives to know that doesn’t mean anything.” He looked up to meet Lambert’s eyes. “Good people die too often. His virtues aren’t enough to save him.” 

“He’s got more than his virtues,” Lambert said, standing up and patting Geralt on the back. “He’s got four Witchers, one of which is way too stubborn to let him die.” 

Geralt was just about to give him some sort of self-defeating reply, when Eskel reappeared, looking nervous and standing at the threshold. 

Suddenly Geralt was afraid he might be sick again. He wasn’t sure if he could face whatever was waiting for him upstairs. Even so, he knew he had no choice. 

“Geralt,” Eskel said warily, as if he were afraid Geralt might start yelling again. 

“Yes,” he replied, working hard to keep his voice even. 

“Vesemir wants to see you upstairs.” It was impossible to tell anything from the tone of his voice. Geralt couldn’t decide whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. 

He stood up, doing his best not to panic. This was his mess after all, and now he had to face the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a dream the other night that someone commented on my comma usage. My subconscious is rlly coming for my love of egregiously long sentences.


	13. Chapter 13

When Geralt entered Jaskier’s room, he found Vesemir sitting in the chair next to the bed, and Jaskier motionless, propped up against the headboard in the same position that he used to sleep in. Blood stained his face and shirt, along with the bedsheets and Vesemir’s hands and sleeves. Geralt was struck again by just how much this room looked like the scene of a murder, complete with the victim, motionless and pale as a ghost. 

Geralt rushed to his side and pressed his hand against the bard’s cheek, his fifth finger resting in the hollow right under his jawline where Jaskier’s pulse should be. After a gut wrenching half-second he felt it, a weak but still present heartbeat. The wave of relief that washed over him nearly brought him to his knees. He pressed his forehead to Jaskier’s burning hot one, tears welling in his eyes. Jaskier was alive! He gave himself a few moments to experience his emotions with his face hidden from Vesemir before he pulled away from Jaskier to face the oldest Witcher. 

“What happened?” he asked, taking a long, shaky breath in. 

“Well, you saw how he reacted to the potion. We’ll have to rethink our strategy going forward.” 

“But the blood,” Geralt replied. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” 

“The violence of the coughing burst a few blood vessels in his nose. It’s certainly not a good thing, but it looks a lot scarier than it is. Falling unconscious though, that’s where I feel the real damage might have been done.” Vesemir looked over to Jaskier’s motionless body, a slightly vacant look in his eyes. 

Geralt wondered what had happened after Eskel took him out. Vesemir looked exhausted. 

“So what do we do now?” Geralt asked. 

Vesemir raised a hand to stop him. 

“He’s very weak. We can’t do anything but let him rest until at least tomorrow morning. I gave him something to keep him unconscious so his body can recuperate. While he rests we need to try and get his fever down.” 

He was right. Geralt could feel the heat radiating off of Jaskier from a foot away. This was mostly due to his Witcher senses, but it was still concerning. 

“Why don’t you give him a cool bath,” Vesemir suggested. “We need to do something about all this blood anyways,” he said, motioning to the stained bedsheets. “I’ll clean up the room while you tend to him.” 

“I’ll go fetch some water.” 

“While you’re bathing him, can you also check and make sure none of his ribs dislocated. Strained muscles are to be expected, but we’ll have to do something if his ribs aren’t staying put.” 

Geralt hated the implications of this request—that this treatment might be so violent it was pulling Jaskier’s bones out of place—but he only nodded in response. 

“Oh, and Geralt,” Vesemir called out, just as Geralt was leaving the room. He turned back. “Clean that hand. The last thing I want to have to deal with is an infected wound.” 

***

Originally Geralt had worried that it would be difficult to assess Jaskier’s ribs with him unconscious and unable to tell Geralt if his poking and prodding hurt, but as soon as he got him out of his blood covered shirt he realized this wouldn’t be an issue. He could count every one of Jaskier’s ribs. Geralt gently ran his hand down each side of Jaskier’s chest, but no, none of his frightfully prominent ribs were out of place. 

He selfishly wished that Jaskier was awake. He knew the bard needed to rest, but seeing him so sick, still, and silent, just sitting in the water was just a sad, lonely reminder of the situation they were in. So much of what Jaskier was in Geralt’s mind was his voice, his laugh, the light behind his eyes. Jaskier was soft edges and smiles, but now in the cold water of the bath he was all stiff angles and hollow cheeks. 

He doubted the bard could feel anything, but still Geralt was excessively gentle as he washed the blood off of Jaskier’s skin. He looked so fragile, as if one wrong move could break him. It only took a minute or two to bathe him, but Geralt let him rest in the water a little while longer trying to get the fever down. 

Geralt absentmindedly hummed one of Jaskier’s songs, suddenly afraid if the silence between him and his ailing bard grew any deeper he might break down. He wanted him back. He wanted him back so badly. Neither the name of the song or the words came to mind, but for some reason at some point in the past few years the tune had stuck in his head, and now the notes just evoked Jaskier in his mind. Even though he was only a few feet away, Geralt missed him desperately. 

He was about to lift him out of the water to get him dressed when he noticed the spatters of blood on the bandages wrapping Jaskier’s broken arm. This was something Geralt could do. He could fix this. 

He got the bard dressed in the most comfortable clothes he could find, and then set out re-wrapping his broken arm. While the bandages were undone he examined the break. The bruises had gone from a deep purple to more green and yellow hues, and all in all, everything seemed to be getting along as it should. Geralt re-splinted and wrapped it, feeling good, as if he had achieved something which would make Jaskier a bit more comfortable, however small. 

Once he was clean and dry, Geralt carried him back to his now almost miraculously clean room. He gently deposited him on the bed and then took his spot on guard in the armchair. He didn’t want to leave Jaskier’s side. He wanted to be there as soon as he woke up. 

Vesemir had said Jaskier needed to rest for the time being, but he hadn’t said how long the potion he’d given him would last. Just as this question crossed his mind Vesemir entered as if he were able to read Geralt’s mind. The eldest Witcher knew Geralt so well at this point he practically could—at least well enough to know that talking was the last thing he wanted to do right now. But Geralt knew this was what needed to happen, so he broke the silence. 

“We need to talk about this morning then?” It was posed as a question, but he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Vesemir responded curtly. “Obviously things didn’t go as well as we could have hoped, so I think it’s best we returned to our original question.” 

Geralt’s heart ached. 

“Is this treatment something we should pursue?” Vesemir finished. 

Before, the decision had seemed so easy, but now seeing the consequences of his actions, he really didn’t know anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, sorry it’s kinda slow. I promise it’ll pick up again pls don’t leave.   
> Also, if any of y’all ever wanna talk about The Witcher hmu my tumblr is reallooney.


	14. Chapter 14

Geralt couldn’t look Vesemir in the eyes. He didn’t know what to say anymore. He’d thought he had the answers—that if he just made the right decisions Jaskier would be okay—but this morning it had all blown up in his face. 

“I’ll support you either way Geralt,” Vesemir said, “but we need to make a decision.” 

“I can’t put him through that again,” Geralt replied. 

“We can try diluting it, or giving him a smaller dose,” he suggested, “but my original offer does still stand.”

Geralt wanted more than anything to decline, to push forward with blind optimism, but there was more to this decision than just hoping things would end up alright. There were things like pain, and suffering on the line. Things he couldn’t bear to put Jaskier through. 

“Would I get to say goodbye?” 

“Of course.” 

Geralt looked over to Jaskier asleep in the bed, trying desperately to shove down the heart wrenching feeling of sorrow until it was deep enough that he couldn’t feel it anymore. 

“What chance would you give him?” he asked, “If we did continue.” 

Vesemir sighed. “I would say maybe twenty percent.” 

“Even with the adjustments?” 

“It’s hard to say. It could work, but there’s a serious potential that any more tries would end up like this morning.”

He hated the thought of losing Jaskier, and instinctively he wanted to go for it and try the treatment again—even if there was only a one percent chance of success. These were selfish thoughts though, and the pain he witnessed this morning—Geralt couldn’t inflict that on him again. 

“And if we did,” Geralt swallowed past a lump in his throat, “the other one, it would be painless?” 

“No more painful than falling asleep.” 

Maybe easing him over to the other side really was the last gift Geralt could give him. He had been in pain for so long, surely he would welcome the release. 

“I think we have to then. I can’t keep hurting him Vesemir.” 

Vesemir nodded. 

“I can brew the potion. It wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow evening though.” 

Geralt shut his eyes, willing himself to keep his emotions in check, at least until he was alone.

“Okay,” he said, his voice barely audible. 

Vesemir left without another word. Maybe he was in a hurry to start brewing the potion, or maybe he could tell just how close Geralt was to the edge. Either way, he was grateful. 

As soon as the door shut behind Vesemir, Geralt brought his chair as close as he could to the bed. He took one of Jaskier’s limp hands in both of his and let his head rest on the mattress. He let out a choked sob, and it was like the floodgates were opening up. This kind of crying, this shoulder shaking, lip tingling type of crying, brought him back to the most vulnerable points in his life. He hadn’t cried like this in years, decades probably. It was as if he had been saving it all up for this moment. This moment where he let a friend down and lost him because of it. 

***

Geralt hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until someone was shaking him awake. He lifted his head from the mattress to find Vesemir standing over him. 

“Go sleep in your own bed, Wolf. I’ll stay with him.” 

No. If he was going to do this, he was going to stay at Jaskier’s side until the end. He wasn’t going to miss a minute of whatever time Jaskier had left. 

“You know I can’t.” 

He was sure he looked like hell, eyes bloodshot, lines on his cheeks from sleeping facedown on the mattress. Hopefully his pitiful appearance would convince Vesemir to go along with what he wanted without him having to resort to less savory tactics. 

“I feared you would say that,” Vesemir responded. “At least go get some dinner. I made sure Eskel and Lambert saved enough for you. 

“I’m really not hungry, Vesemir.” 

Vesemir looked as if he wanted to argue, but thankfully he stayed silent, exiting the room and leaving Geralt to be alone with Jaskier again. 

The next time someone entered, Geralt didn’t bother to look up. 

“I’m not leaving, Vesemir,” he called out. 

“Nobody is asking you to,” a voice replied. 

Geralt turned around to find, not Vesemir, but Eskel and Lambert. They brought with them a meal, which they deposited on the table a few feet behind where Geralt sat. 

“Come eat something,” Eskel coaxed. 

“You left your breakfast outside, so we figured you’d probably be hungry,” Lambert said. 

Eskel elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Ow, hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” 

Eskel glared at him. “The mood doesn’t always need to be lightened, Lambert.”

Geralt was tempted to kick them out as he had done to Vesemir, but he didn’t hate the idea of a little bit of company. He’d kick them out in a few minutes—maybe once he finished eating some of the food they brought. He had to admit, it did smell enticing.

He mumbled a thank you and began to eat. 

Once his mouth was full of food—meaning he was less likely to start shouting again—Eskel spoke. 

“Vesemir told me about your decision.” He used a tone similar to what someone might use when approaching an injured animal. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Geralt gumbled. 

“No, I know. I just don’t understand.” 

Geralt glared at him. 

“What is there to understand Eskel. I can’t keep hurting him.” He felt like he was stuck in a loop, using the same reasoning over and over to justify a decision he hated having to make in the first place. 

“I don’t know what he told you,” Eskel continued, “but Jaskier is a lot stronger than you and Vesemir are giving him credit for.” 

“It’s not about strength.’ Geralt knew Jaskier was strong; this was about suffering. “It’s not fair for me—” 

Eskel didn’t let him finish. 

“No, just listen for a second. When I came back upstairs this morning, while you were downstairs, I saw the end of the treatment.” 

“I know,” Geralt cut in, “he was bleeding and unconscious and still the potion didn’t let him rest.” 

“He was awake, Geralt. He pulled himself out of it. He came to just as it was ending. He was disoriented, and in pain, but it was him.” 

For the first time, Geralt felt a spark of hope. 

“Vesemir didn’t mention anything about that. Jaskier was unconscious when I came upstairs. Vesemir said he needed to rest.” 

Eskel nodded. “He gave him the sleep potion just as I was leaving. He didn’t tell you?”

“He did. I just thought he’d been unconscious the whole time. Why wouldn’t he say anything?” 

“I think Vesemir has seen a lot of boys die,” Eskel replied in a grave tone. “And even more suffer greatly. That changes how you view things, Geralt. But I have hope your friend can get better. You should too.” 

Suddenly Geralt felt bad for even considering the other choice. He’d had good intentions, but Eskel spoke the truth. He needed to have faith in Jaskier. 

“You’re right.” 

Eskel’s face broke out in a huge smile. 

“I’ll go tell Vesemir.” 

As soon as he made the decision to change his mind it was as if a switch had flipped. A weight lifted off his shoulders. He realized just how hungry he was and began to eat the meal his brothers had brought him with gusto. 

“I figured you would’ve cleaned that by now,” Lambert said, prodding the back of Geralt’s injured hand. 

“I did,” Geralt lied. He’d forgotten, but Lambert didn’t need to know that. 

“Why isn’t it wrapped then?” 

“I had to re-wrap Jaskier’s arm. I ran out of bandages.” That one was true. 

“I think there are some in here.” Lambert got up and started rummaging through the cupboard. “Here.” 

He brought over a clean bandage to Geralt and set it on the table. 

Geralt, now in a much better mood, humored him, laying his hand down flat for Lambert to examine and continuing to eat his dinner with his left hand. 

“Do you want me to stitch it up? You got yourself pretty good.” 

“No, I don’t want you to stitch it up,” Geralt replied. 

“Come on, you know it will heal better that way. Or do you want to just continue to have an open wound?” 

He did have a point. Geralt hadn’t really noticed the pain earlier, but now that it was brought to the forefront of his mind, the stinging, throbbing pain was hard to ignore. He examined the cut for the first time since he’d given it to himself. It was deeper than he’d assumed, spanning the space across his first three knuckles. 

“Fine,”Geralt conceded. “But make sure they’re straight. I’ve seen some of your stitching jobs, Lambert, and they’re ugly. If I get a nasty scar I’ll hold you accountable. 

Lambert just grinned, returning to the cupboard to find a needle and thread. 

He was just about finished “re-cleaning” Geralt’s hand when Eskel returned. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Fixing Geralt’s hand,” Lambert replied. “Now be quiet. I need to focus.” He threaded the needle, but before he had the chance to do anything Eskel took it from his hand. 

“Let me do it. My stitches are neater than yours.” 

Lambert couldn't seem to argue with that so he allowed Eskel to take his seat and start the stitching himself. 

While he worked, Eskel and Lambert chatted, exchanging stories from the past year, telling about all of the most exciting things that had happened while the Witchers were all on their own, roaming the continent and killing monsters. 

Geralt didn’t contribute, but he was happy to just sit and listen. The stitching stung, and the stories were a lot of the same sorts of things he’d heard before, but for the first time it felt like just a normal winter night in Kaer Morhen. And for the first time since arriving at Kaer Morhen, he had hope that everything might turn out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last year I had to write a term paper on the ethics of mercy killing a baby. I think it changed who I am as a person ngl. I’m not heartless tho I promise


	15. Chapter 15

Last night when he spoke with Eskel, Geralt had been sure he was making the right decision. Now though, in the light of the morning facing Jaskier with the potion in his hand, he was second guessing himself. 

“You don’t have to stay, Geralt,” Vesemir said. “I doubt Jaskier will be very aware about who’s around while it’s happening.” 

“If there’s any chance it makes him more comfortable, then I’m staying,” Geralt asserted. 

“Alright, you can try to wake him then. The sleeping potion will have worn off by now, but we still might need to help him a bit.” 

Geralt laid a hand on his shoulder. As apprehensive as he was, Geralt was still excited to have his bard awake again. It felt like it had been years since he’d seen Jaskier’s eyes. 

“Jaskier.” 

He repeated the name a few times, gently shaking the shoulder on his good side. It took a few minutes of coaxing, but finally Jaskier opened his eyes. Immediately Geralt’s face broke out into a smile. 

As he woke, Jaskier’s breath quickened and his eyes darted around the room. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Geralt used his best soothing voice. “Jaskier it’s me. It’s okay.” 

It took another few moments of comforting words, before Jaskier looked him in the eyes. 

“Can you hear me?” 

Geralt was ready to commit to continuing the treatment, but it was still up to Jaskier. He seemed a lot less present this time than he had the last time he’d been awake. Geralt hoped he would be able to understand everything that was going on—again, afraid of inflicting the treatment on Jaskier without him being certain of what was about to happen. 

“We want to try the potion again,” Geralt explained, “is that alright.” 

It took Jaskier a while to answer. Geralt had just about decided that he wasn’t aware of what was going on and they would have to call it all off, when Jaskier replied. He nodded, moving his head a fraction of an inch. It was enough though; they could proceed. 

“Are you ready?” 

Another nod. 

“Alright.” 

Vesemir brought over the basin as Geralt opened the vial and tipped the contents into Jaskier’s mouth, keeping a steadying hand on the bard’s back as he began to cough. 

***

Jaskier was ready to say no. He was ready to give in and let go of all of the pain. Waking up felt like being pulled up from the bottom of the ocean and having all the water forced from his lungs. He was alive yes, but being alive meant being in pain. At least when he was asleep he’d been numb; he might have been dying, but the pain was dulled. Being awake brought it all back to the forefront. 

He could tell someone was talking to him. Everything was a haze though; it was hard to register what was going on. The light was too bright and moving hurt. He needed to focus. It took a lot of effort, but he was eventually able to zero in on something. Geralt was talking to him. 

“We want to try the potion again. Is that alright?” 

No. It wasn’t alright. He couldn’t do it. Not again. The pain he’d experienced—he couldn’t imagine doing it all over again now that he knew what was coming. He would rather drown. 

He was about to say this—or try his best to communicate it in some way or another; he wasn’t sure if his voice worked at all anymore—when he looked at Geralt and really saw him for the first time since waking up. 

He must have been the one who’d woken him. He sat right at the edge of the bed looking at him expectantly. What baffled Jaskier though, was that Geralt was smiling. He was looking into Jaskier’s eyes with an absentminded smile on his face. It was the very same look he himself had given the Witcher so many times before. Geralt would be doing something—killing a monster, talking to an innkeeper, glowering at somebody—and Jaskier would find himself looking on, positively beaming. He’d never seen this look reciprocated before, this look of just being glad to be around somebody. 

Without thinking he nodded. He couldn’t let Geralt down, not when he was looking at him with such pure adoration. 

“Are you ready?” 

No. 

He nodded again. 

“Alright.” 

Geralt tipped the vial and the potion ran down his throat.

His memory had done a poor job of recalling its effects. Had it burned this bad last time? Acted this quickly?

He had Geralt now though, his strong, sturdy hand on his back, his eyes looking on with care and concern as the coughing began in earnest. He pressed his eyes shut, but the hand on his back stayed firm, anchoring him to reality, and the thought of seeing his Witcher again when he opened his eyes gave him something to work for—a reason to justify going through all of this pain again. 

***

Geralt told himself the second treatment went better than the first. There was no blood this time, and Jaskier stayed conscious, but the violence of the coughing still scared him. Every so often he would look up and try to read Vesemir’s expression. If the eldest Witcher had any emotional reactions to the scene in front of him, he didn’t let it show. Eskel stood next to him, probably waiting to see if Geralt would need to be escorted out again. Geralt didn’t take his hand off Jaskier's back. He was determined not to let Jaskier down this time. 

He could feel Jaskier’s temperature rising through the fabric of his shirt. The muscles of his back contracted, and Geralt worried they would tear under the strain. Vesemir’s comment about dislocated ribs didn’t help ease this anxiety. 

After several very long minutes of coughing and retching things began to diminish. The breaths between coughs became deeper and slower. Once Geralt was confident he wouldn’t choke, he brought a glass of water to Jaskier’s lips. He gulped it down eagerly. Vesemir kept the basin in Jaskier’s lap, but the water stayed down. 

They’d done it. They had made it through a second treatment.

***

Jaskier slumped back against the headboard, trying to stop his breathing from devolving back into shallow catch breaths. Even though the coughing was over, he still felt stabbing pains in his ribs and his throat felt like he’d been swallowing glass. Every breath sent a new wave of pain through his whole body. Black crowded the edge of his vision, trying to pull him into unconsciousness. Sleep promised a break from the pain, but Jaskier fought it. Geralt was smiling at him again. 

“Jaskier you did it. You did so well.” 

Jaskier would stay awake, if nothing else just to keep looking at Geralt. 

***

Geralt stayed with Jaskier even after Vesemir and Eskel left. The bard fell asleep not too long after the treatment ended and Geralt passed the rest of the day sitting at his side. 

Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir stopped by throughout the day to check in, or bring food, or just sit and chat for a while. Jaskier slept for the whole afternoon and evening. By the time he woke again, it was well into the night and Geralt had fallen asleep. He woke up to Jaskier squeezing his hand which he’d left resting on the bed—the movement barely strong enough to register, but enough to rouse Geralt from his shallow sleep. It was hard to see in the unlit room, but Geralt could swear Jaskier was smiling at him through the darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I haven’t played hardly any of Witcher 3, so my characterizations of Eskel and Lambert are coming from like the two chapters they’re in from Blood of Elves, and then just The Witcher characters as vines compilations.


	16. Chapter 16

The next week or so passed slowly, bringing with it new highs and new lows. They did a treatment every morning with varying degrees of success. Some days gave Geralt hope, others made him question whether it was worth it to even try. Jaskier was sticking with it though, so he would too.

Sometimes he seemed to be getting better, other times he seemed to be getting worse. Some days he could keep down food, some days he couldn’t. Some of the treatments went well and passed without incident, others were scarier, like the first one, with choking and bloody noses and Jaskier passing out before the effects wore off. Geralt never again left before a treatment ended though. His presence seemed to comfort Jaskier, and Geralt would do anything to help, no matter how small.

As the days passed, Vesemir became increasingly worried about the effects of the high fever on Jaskier’s brain and body. Even when the treatments went relatively without incident, they never failed to spike Jaskier’s fever. They tried cooling the room down and leaving Jaskier mostly undressed under a light blanket, but when more rational methods failed Vesemir instructed Geralt and Eskel to make snow packs to try and lower his temperature after treatments. Geralt wasn’t sure what was in the potion which would cause this, but he’d never felt fevers this high in his life. 

It wasn’t often that Geralt left Jaskier’s side. If Vesemir pestered him enough he would go downstairs to eat dinner with his brothers, or go sleep for a few hours in his own bed, but for the most part he stayed in the chair at Jaskier’s bedside, waiting anxiously for him to get better.

The best days were when Jaskier woke up in the afternoon and evening. He didn’t talk, either because he didn’t have the energy, or because his throat was too damaged, but at least at first he seemed to listen, watching Geralt as he told stories like he’d done when they’d been on the road all those days ago. As the week progressed though, Jaskier seemed to become more and more distant. He spent more time awake, which Geralt took as a good sign, but instead of appearing engaged with whatever else was happening in the room he spent more and more time with a detached, lifeless look in his eyes. Sometimes if Geralt said his name he’d pull himself out of it. Other times, no matter how many times Geralt repeated it, he would just lay there staring at something a million miles away that only he could see. 

Physically he seemed to be getting better. Mentally something seemed to be going wrong. Geralt spent a lot of time worrying that Vesemir was right and the fever was getting to his brain. Everyone else seemed so encouraged by his healing though, that Geralt felt bad bringing it up, so he kept it to himself. 

***

Everyone said that Jaskier was getting better. He heard it all the time, before treatments, after treatments, when he woke up, when he ate. He even heard it said in hushed tones when they thought he was asleep. Jaskier didn’t feel like he was getting better though. He felt like he was stuck in an endless loop of sleeping, being roused either to be fed clear broth, which more often than not came right back up, or to endure treatments which hurt him in ways that he couldn’t describe, and then sleeping again. The days blurred together, the only thing present to indicate their passing was the pouring of the angry red potion down his throat. This was hell. It must be. The only thing he had to remind him that he hadn’t spent his whole life suffering in this bed was his broken arm. And even that was just another thing to cause him pain. 

He was afraid if Geralt asked him again if he wanted to take the potion, he would say no. Nobody asked him anymore if he wanted to continue though. No, it was going too well. ”He was getting better.” They couldn’t stop now. Everyone seemed to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel but him. 

The only thing that kept him going was Geralt faithfully sitting at his bedside. If he was going to see this through, then Jaskier would too. He just prayed that it would all be over soon. One way or another. 

***

At the end of the week Geralt finally couldn’t take it anymore. 

Eskel spent a lot of time in Jaskier’s room with Geralt—he seemed almost as invested in Jaskier’s progress as Geralt was—so during one of those times he decided to voice his concerns. 

“I’m worried about Jaskier,” he admitted. 

“He seems to be doing a lot better,” Eskel tried to console him. “There are bad days, sure, but for the most part I think we’re making good progress.” 

“It’s not that. I’m worried he’s unhappy.” 

Lambert probably would have laughed at him for saying something so obvious—of course Jaskier was unhappy, he was in an unthinkable amount of pain—but Eskel responded with sympathy. 

“Why do you think that?” 

“I’m not sure. It’s just sometimes he seems so detached, like he’s in a different world. Before he at least seemed aware of what was going on. He even used to smile, but now it’s like even when he’s awake he isn’t really here.” 

“It reminds you of the trials, doesn't it?” 

Geralt hadn’t said anything about it, but Eskel was right. Sitting at Jaskier’s side as he vomited, bled, and did his best not to succumb to the high fevers often brought Geralt back to when he’d been in this position himself. It must do the same for Eskel as well. Geralt presumed this was why, although he seemed reasonably fond of Jaskier, Lambert spent very little time in the sick room. 

“It does.” 

“Do you think that might be affecting how you react to Jaskier’s emotional state? You might be projecting some of the emotions you associate with the trials onto him.” 

He patted Geralt on the shoulder. 

“He is getting better, Geralt. It’s going to be alright.” 

Geralt wanted to let himself be comforted by his brother’s words, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the trials, and how if he’d had someone who’d been able to opt him out of it for him, he’d have asked them to do it in a heartbeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eskel is the real hero of this story. Our poor boys can’t seem to catch a break:(   
> If you need some more lighthearted content tho, I uploaded a much more fluffy Geralt/Jaskier hurt comfort one shot last night if you wanna check that out:))


	17. Chapter 17

Geralt so wholeheartedly expected an emotional breakdown from Jaskier, that when it happened he was almost relieved. Almost. 

It happened on the morning of the tenth treatment. For days Vesemir had been saying that they were close, that each treatment could be the last, but still each morning he brought in a new vial of the little red potion. 

This time began like any of the other treatments. Geralt roused Jaskier, and gave him a few minutes to wake before they would begin. He seemed like his normal, tired self, but instead of submitting to drinking the potion, this time Jaskier resisted. Geralt couldn’t tell exactly why today was different, but it was. Something had changed. 

Jaskier was still weak and there wasn’t much he could do to move away from Vesemir and the vial he was offering him. Regardless, his opposition was plenty evident. 

Geralt had helped him to sit up, as he always did, and now he turned his head away from Vesemir’s hand, which brought the potion to his mouth. 

“No.” 

It was the first time he’d spoken in days and his voice was practically nonexistent. Still his motive was clear. 

“Please no.” 

Geralt pushed Vesemir’s hand and the potion away, kneeling at the bedside and taking Jaskier’s good hand in both of his. 

“We have to,” Geralt tried to argue. Truth be told, he didn’t want Jaskier to drink the potion either, but if Vesemir was right and the end really was in sight, then he had to. They couldn’t quit this close to the finish line, not when they’d come so far.

“I can’t. Not again.” His voice broke several times in the span of just those few words, breaking a piece of Geralt’s resolve with it each time. There were tears welling up in his eyes now, and starting to run down his cheeks. 

“Jaskier,” Vesemir cut in, “we’re nearing the end now. You need to stick with it; we’re so close.” 

Jaskier still faced Geralt. Whether it was because he didn’t have the energy to turn his head, or because he knew his Witcher would be more sympathetic to his cause, he didn’t know. Either way it was working. It also didn’t seem to discourage Vesemir in the slightest. 

“Just one or two more treatments and I’m sure we’ll be done.” 

At this, Jaskier just cried harder. Geralt glared at Vesemir. His words were clearly not helping. 

“Geralt I can’t. I can’t.” His voice caught as his breathing morphed into sobs. 

“We don’t have to do anything right now. Let’s just think about this,” Geralt tried to talk him down. 

“No,” he could barely speak now past the crying, but he continued nevertheless. “I’m done.” 

“Jaskier, just this one last treatment. We can re-evaluate after.” Vesemir tried to persuade him, but Jaskier was far past hearing reason—days past, Geralt suspected. 

He pressed his eyes shut and leaned his head back against the headboard, his teeth gritted, breath coming in gasps between sobs, tears running down his face.

“No. Please.” 

As Jaskier continued to protest, his crying turned from sobbing to choking. Geralt let go of his hand to try and help him sit up and get his breath back, but Jaskier pushed him away with a weak hand. 

He was able to get one last word in before he could no longer catch his breath enough to speak. 

“Go.” 

Geralt took a step back, looking at the bard, stunned, and unsure of how to respond. He regarded Jaskier, who looked back at him through bloodshot eyes. He didn’t seem to take back what he said. Geralt was torn between his desire to honor Jaskier’s wishes, and his aversion to leaving his side. In the end though, if Jaskier wanted him to go, then he would go. And anyway, he couldn’t bear to watch his bard cry. 

Eskel watched him go, seeming torn too, but his desire to support his brother apparently won out over his desire to stay and help Vesemir. He followed Geralt out. 

Geralt slid down the wall, sitting down on the floor right outside the sick room. He tried to hide his tears from Eskel, bringing his knees to his chest and bowing his head down, but it was no good. 

Eskel put a hand on his shoulder, but Geralt pushed it off. There was nothing Eskel could say or do to convince Geralt that he hadn’t spent the last week torturing one of the people he cared about most. Luckily, Eskel seemed to sense this. He didn’t push. 

Geralt wasn’t sure how long they sat like that—ten minutes, twenty? Eskel waited until Geralt had collected himself enough to look up to speak again. 

“He has every right to be upset,” Eskel said, surprising Geralt by not telling him what everyone seemed to be telling him these days—that Jaskier’s condition wasn’t his fault. 

“You have every right to be upset too,” he continued, “but that doesn’t erase the progress we’ve made.” 

“Progress at what cost, Eskel?” Geralt asked. “I pushed him into this, and now I’ve pushed him too far. You’re right, he should be angry with me.” 

“I never said that.” 

“It’s true though. I pressured him into doing the treatments.” His fists were clenched so tightly, he could feel the scabs around his stitches splitting open. He was working hard to keep himself from getting angry like he had before. 

“He agreed to do them. We had no idea of knowing what was going through his head when he said yes,” Eskel argued. 

“We should have tried harder to figure it out.” 

“He’s allowed to be emotional now, even if he’d wanted to do the treatment initially. He might have been just as willing as the rest of us at the time.” 

“I wasn’t willing.” Geralt snapped, raising his voice for the first time. “You talked me into this, into hurting him” he accused, putting an emphasis on the “you” as he glared at Eskel. He knew it wasn’t his brother’s fault, that Eskel wanted Jaskier to get better as much as the rest of them did, but Geralt was desperate to pass on some of the guilt which weighed so heavily on him. 

For the first time, Eskel, who had through this entire process been a pillar of comfort and reason, let his emotions show. This statement had cut deep. 

“Geralt you know that’s not fair.” 

Geralt was about to come back with another biting remark when they were cut off—interrupted by the sound of Jaskier’s coughing coming from inside the sick room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I am SO sorry. Please don't hate me; I PROMISE this will all be worth it in the end. Just a little bit of sad left.


	18. Chapter 18

“Geralt, wait.” Eskel reached out to grab Geralt, but he shook him off, reaching for the door handle. 

“What the hell did you do,” Geralt accused Vesemir, bursting into the room. 

Jaskier was yet again hunched over the basin, in the throes of the red potion. 

“I talked to him. He agreed to it.” Vesemir tried to explain, but Geralt wasn’t in a place to hear excuses. He must have pressured Jaskier into it. Nothing Vesemir could say would’ve brought him from crying and begging, to willingly doing the treatment. 

“You should have talked to me first.” 

“It wasn’t your decision to make.” 

Geralt took a step toward Vesemir, looking the older Witcher in the eye with the most menacing glare he could manage. He hated to think what Vesemir had said to manipulate Jaskier into changing his mind. 

“How could you do this?” He spat, more of an accusation than a question. 

“Geralt, we’re both trying to achieve the same thing.” 

“No.” Geralt’s intention was to help Jaskier. Vesemir and Eskel seemed intent on torturing him. “I never wanted to hurt him.” 

He was only a few inches away from Vesemir now, looking down at him, not bothering to hide his anger. 

“Geralt, stop.” Eskel stepped in, separating the other two. 

Geralt shoved him out of the way. He hadn’t meant to hurt him, but Eskel stumbled backwards and landed on the floor, hard. 

“This has gotten out of hand,” Vesemir said, finally letting his anger show. 

If he’d been in a normal state of mind, Geralt would have agreed, but not now. He was too angry, tired, and scared to see reason. He just wanted Jaskier to be safe. Why was that so difficult for everyone else to understand? 

Geralt was about to respond in his own defense when Eskel cut in again, this time from over by the bed. 

“Stop. Something’s wrong.” 

Both of the other Witchers turned their heads. 

At first, it seemed like there was nothing out of the ordinary. Jaskier was still coughing, and there was blood running down his chin and into the basin. It was scary, there was no denying that, but the bloody noses had happened several times now. It was something they knew how to deal with. So why did Eskel look so worried?

Then Geralt realized that the blood wasn’t coming from Jaskier’s nose at all—it was coming from his mouth, more and more spatterring into the bottom of the basin with each cough. 

Geralt shared a terrified look with Vesemir before hurrying over to the bed. He wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but he knew instinctively that something had gone very very wrong. 

***

Every time Jaskier did one of the treatments he thought, “This is it. This is the most pain I could possibly be in.” Every time he made it through though, but this time it was different. The pain he felt now made everything else pale in comparison. Nothing, not the other treatments, not breaking and setting his arm, had ever caused him this much pain in his life. It was as if someone had dug a white hot knife between his ribs, and was now using it to slice up his lungs. The sensation of slick, metallic blood in his mouth and running down his throat would have made him sick if there was anything left in his stomach. 

He wished for unconsciousness, anything to escape from this pain, but the coughing just continued, relentless. It was almost funny. Everything he’d been through up until this point—even so far as all the way back to the night he broke his arm—he’d thought that he was in the most pain imaginable. He must have really had a low threshold back then, because he doubted he ever would have been able to imagine the pure agony of this moment. This was it. This was unquestionably the most pain he could possibly be in. 

***

Just when Geralt thought he’d seen it all, that it couldn’t possibly get worse than this, Jaskier had to go and raise the bar once again. He watched from a few feet back, numb, as Vesemir and Eskel frantically tended to Jaskier. He was at a loss. He felt useless, but there really was nothing he could do. 

He figured they would just have to do as they always had and wait for the effects of the potion to wear off, whether Jaskier stayed conscious or not. Geralt figured they didn’t have much of a choice. This time though, when Jaskier finally passed out, it was like a candle had been snuffed out. He went from his whole body shaking with the force of the coughing, to completely limp. Eskel caught him just before his head smacked against the headboard. He then put a hand on the side of Jaskier’s neck, where his pulse would be. After a few seconds he looked to Vesemir—a scared look on his face—and then shook his head, almost imperceptibly. 

At this, Vesemir sprung into action. 

“Get him off the bed.” 

Geralt was confused. What reason would they have for putting Jaskier on the floor? It wasn’t until Vesemir knelt before him and started doing steady, rhythmic chest compressions, that Geralt realized what was happening. He’d only seen it done a handful of times, and only twice had he seen it done successfully. Vesemir was trying to forcibly restart Jaskier’s heart. 

The room spun, threatening to bring Geralt to the floor. He couldn’t comprehend it. Jaskier was dead. His heart had stopped beating. He could only hope that somehow there was enough strength left in him to, with Vesemir’s insistent aid, start his heart beating again on its own. They had come too far to lose him now. 

He heard a loud crack, but Vesemir didn’t slow. 

Geralt walked over to Jaskier, his footsteps unsteady, and knelt by his head. His face was as pale as a ghost with deep red spots of blood still staining the skin around his mouth. He wanted to reach out, to wipe the blood from his face and brush the strands of hair out of his eyes, but he was afraid that even a gentle touch might hurt him somehow. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes remained closed. Geralt refused to accept that he was gone. This wasn’t going to be how he remembered his closest friend. 

Vesemir didn’t waver, even as they were met with the sound of another loud crack. All three Witchers seemed to be holding their breath as they waited to see if Jaskier would respond. 

After what seemed like eternity, they heard it. It was barely audible, but there was no way they could have missed it, not when they were listening so intently. A breath. It was shaky and shallow, but a breath nonetheless. Vesemir stopped, pulling his hands back, and Geralt placed his own hand as gently as he could on the side of Jaskier’s neck. He could hardly believe it, but there it was—a weak, but steady heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CEO of bringing Jaskier back from being closer to death than you thought was possible. I am so sorry. I promise this really is the last time.  
> Again, if you are looking for something a little less heavy (after this I would NOT blame you) I have a couple more lighthearted hurt/comfort fics. I just put up the first two parts of a three part Geralt hurt/comfort if you're into that—thought I should turn the tables.  
> Again again, I am so sorry. Please don't hate me there is still so much to come.


	19. Chapter 19

Geralt sat on the floor, overwhelmed with relief and unwilling to move his hand away from the pulse at Jaskier’s neck—afraid it wouldn’t continue if he wasn’t there to feel it. He didn’t move until Vesemir approached him. The oldest Witcher looked wary, as if he was afraid Geralt might lash out again. 

“Can I speak to you privately,” he asked in a calm, measured voice. 

Geralt looked up. “I don’t want to leave him.” He was too exhausted, mentally and emotionally, to provide anything but the truth. 

“I only need a minute,” Vesemir replied. “Eskel will be right here with him.” 

“Okay,” Geralt replied in a voice barely above whisper. He reluctantly picked Jaskier’s limp body from the floor, being as careful as he could with the body cradled against his chest, like it might break at the slightest touch. He laid Jaskier on the bed gently, as if he were a newborn child, still too fragile for the harshness of this world. He was hesitant to leave him, but he had things to discuss with Vesemir. There was a lot of tension between the two Witchers—he’d made that clear earlier. He was afraid, and he assumed Vesemir was as well, that if things weren’t sorted out, there might be an even uglier encounter than the one they’d had this morning waiting for them. 

He followed Vesemir out of the sick room. He expected the older Witcher to speak with him out in the hall, or perhaps in Geralt’s room, but instead he led him into his own chambers. Maybe Vesemir thought his spacious, comfortable quarters, completely removed from the trauma of the sick room, might help to dissipate some of the tension. Maybe he just wanted to be in his own space for a change.

He offered Geralt a seat, retrieving a kettle from where it hung over a low fire and pouring him a mug of some steaming drink. Hesitantly he took a sip. It was warm and soothing, but it did nothing to dispel the anger he felt. He set it down on the table in front of him. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about this,” Vesemir began, “but I need to know if Jaskier has any family we should try and get in contact with.” 

What was he talking about? He’d never mentioned trying to get in touch with Jaskier’s family before. 

“I know this morning didn’t go as we’d hoped it would,” he continued. “It’s hard to think about this now, I’m aware of that, but I don’t want to be making preparations after it’s already too late. We can bury him here if—” 

This was what Vesemir had wanted to discuss with him? Burying Jaskier? 

“He isn’t dead,” Geralt asserted, cutting him off. “Why did you try so hard to save him if you’re so eager to put him in the ground.” 

“Geralt, it’s not like that. You know it’s not like that. I just want to be prepared for any eventuality. This morning he took a turn. We need to be ready in case something else happens.” 

“He didn’t take a turn,” Geralt argued, his voice growing louder. “You pushed him into doing something he didn’t want to and it went poorly.” 

“We had no way of knowing the treatment would end that way.” 

“No. Jaskier did, but you didn’t listen to him. He didn’t want to do it, but you forced him, and look what happened.” He stood up, slamming his hands down on the table and causing hot liquid to splash out of his mug. 

“All I did was tell Jaskier what I thought would be best for him. He knew the risks that came with the treatment. We all did.” 

“Bullshit!” Geralt took the mug and threw it to the floor where it shattered. “He knew something wasn’t right but you pressured him into drinking the potion anyway.” 

“Ever since you brought him here I have done everything I could to help him,” Vesemir replied, raising his voice to match Geralt’s volume, but still holding on to his frustratingly calm demeanor. “I know we don’t always agree, but everything I’ve done, I have done because I thought it was what was best for him.” 

Geralt didn’t respond. Instead he just looked at Vesemir, shaking with rage. 

“Now can we discuss this like adults?” 

No. He was tired of being talked down to. All of his anger, and exhaustion, and frustration was crescendoing now, and the last thing he wanted to do was discuss how to clean up the mess that Vesemir had made with his decisions this morning. 

“I want to be with Jaskier,” he asserted. “I gave you your minute. I’m done.” 

Vesemir didn’t stop him as he made his way to the door. He didn’t want to talk about burying Jaskier. He didn’t want to argue about blame. All he wanted was to be with his bard, for however much time he might have left. 

***

Eskel didn’t say anything as Geralt re-entered the sick room. Instead he just got up from the chair at Jaskier’s bedside, ceding it to Geralt and leaving the room silently, clearly eager to avoid any further confrontation with his brother.

Geralt half expected Vesemir to follow him in and try to continue their conversation, but he didn’t. It took a few minutes for him to accept the fact that he was really alone with Jaskier—nobody was coming to pester him. 

Part of his mind, perhaps the only rational part left, worried what would happen if something else went wrong. How many bridges had he burned with his actions this morning? Would Vesemir still come to his aid? Would Eskel? With the way he’d treated them, he couldn’t blame them if they didn’t. He could only hope that their fondness for Jaskier—good, kind, gentle Jaskier, who was everything Geralt couldn’t be—would be enough to bring them back to his aid if anything happened. But then again, it probably wouldn’t matter. He doubted that, after what he’d been through this morning, Jaskier could survive anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry fam, meant to have this up a little bit ago, but damn, I was rlly going through it tonight. Guess this is karma for how I've been treating Jaskier. Anyways, just wanted to say really truly thank you to anyone who's read this fic. It honestly means so so so much to me. Y'all make the sad boy hours a little less sad.


	20. Chapter 20

Geralt spent the rest of the day sitting at Jaskier’s bedside. He knew that if the bard was going to wake, it wouldn’t be for quite some time, but he still looked up every time Jaskier’s breathing changed even in the slightest. Part of him wanted Jaskier to wake, just so he could know whether or not he was going to be alright. The more realistic part of him knew that as soon as he was conscious Jaskier would be in unspeakable pain. Between the damage to his lungs, the broken arm, and the cracked ribs, it was no wonder he was comatose. Nobody could handle pain like that. So while he wanted desperately to see Jaskier awake and speak to him, he hoped the bard would remain asleep for long enough that when he woke his body would be healed, and he would be free of the pain which had plagued him for weeks now. 

Before when he’d been spending hours at a time in the sick room, there were often visitors. Eskel came and sat with him a lot, even Lambert every once in a while, and most days Vesemir would come in the late evening and encourage Geralt to go sleep in his own room while he took the night shift. Today though, he was completely alone apart from the unsettlingly still Jaskier laying on the bed. Nobody came to chat or share a meal. He hardly ever even heard anyone passing through the hallway outside. He didn’t blame them. He’d acted irrationally this morning, and he’d said a lot of hurtful things which he couldn’t easily take back. Stubbornly, he continued to try and justify his anger, and hold onto it, but deep down he knew he was in the wrong. 

The hours passed slowly, each one blending seamlessly into the next. He did his best not to let his mind wander to dark places—his earlier conversation about burying Jaskier at Kaer Morhen not helping in the slightest. To try and keep these thoughts from his head, he focused instead on counting Jaskier’s heartbeats, each one reminding him that his friend was still alive. 

He wasn’t sure quite when, but after what felt like a long time, he drifted to sleep in his chair, Jaskier’s good hand wrapped in both of his own, his torso slumped over on the edge of the mattress. 

It felt like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes when he was shaken awake. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, adjusting them to the dark to find Vesemir standing over him. 

“Go to bed, Wolf. I’ll watch over him until morning.” 

He let go of Jaskier’s hand and stood up. 

“Come on. You’ll sleep better in your own bed.” 

He didn’t respond, instead pulling Vesemir into a tight embrace. If the older Witcher was surprised, he didn’t show it. He wrapped his arms around Geralt, letting him have this moment. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at the wall of the bedroom, his chin resting on Vesemir’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Vesemir responded. He pulled back so he could look Geralt in the eyes, keeping a hand on his shoulder. 

“The way I’ve acted. There’s no excuse.” It was hard for him to find the words. He was still waking up, and he knew he should have probably prepared something a bit more eloquent, but he didn’t want to go to bed without letting Vesemir know that he was sorry. 

“People act irrationally when the ones they love are in pain,” Vesemir responded. “I’m not going to hold that against you.” 

Geralt had no response. Vesemir was being so much kinder to him than he deserved. 

“Now go to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

“Where’s Eskel?” Geralt asked. “I need to apologize to him too.” 

“Eskel is asleep,” Vesemir said, “just like you should be.” He gently led Geralt to the door. “He knows you’re sorry. Everyone will still be here in the morning. For now, go get some rest. You need it.” 

He was hesitant to leave, but he let Vesemir herd him out the door. He stumbled down the hallway to his bedroom, still not fully awake. His room felt cold and empty, but there was no time for him to revel in his loneliness. He fell into bed fully clothed, asleep within seconds of pulling the covers over himself. It wasn’t hard to rest peacefully when he knew Jaskier was in such capable and caring hands. 

***

The next morning when he returned to the sick room, Vesemir was still sitting at Jaskier’s bedside. 

“I can watch him now,” Geralt said, “if you want to get some sleep.” 

“I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes,” Vesemir replied. “Since our conversation got cut short yesterday.” 

“Of course.” Geralt stood at the foot of the bed, feeling rightfully like a child about to be scolded. 

“I’m going to be honest with you Geralt,” he began, “I trust you can handle that?” 

“Yes.” He couldn’t even be offended, not with the way he’d handled Vesemir’s honesty before. He was determined to keep his head this time though. 

“At this point there’s a high likelihood that Jaskier isn’t going to wake up—higher than the likelihood that he does.” 

“Okay,” Geralt replied in a purposefully neutral tone. He knew this, but it was still hard to hear. 

“So are you prepared for the eventuality that we might have to bury him; will you be present enough to deal with it if it comes to that?” 

It hurt Geralt to even imagine burying Jaskier, but he needed Vesemir to know he wasn’t going to lose it again. He would be able to do what needed to be done. 

“I will be.” 

“And his family? What do you know of them?” 

“I’ll deliver the news to them myself as soon as the winter is over,” he assured Vesemir. 

“Alright.” Vesemir stood up, ready to leave the sickroom. 

Before he reached the door though, Geralt called out. 

“Wait.” 

The older Witcher turned around. 

“I know the odds. I’m not going to fool myself any longer,” Geralt began. “But there still is a chance, right? That he’ll wake.” 

Vesemir gave him a tired half smile. 

“Two weeks ago I would have said no. But I’ve seen your friend do some incredible things. I wouldn’t count anything out just yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, uploading fanfic is the only thing keeping me going rn. Love y'all<3


	21. Chapter 21

After his heart stopped, Jaskier slept for four days. He woke up early on the morning of the fifth day, or at least that was what Geralt was told. Vesemir had been with him at the time. 

Initially Geralt had been sad he missed it, but once Vesemir told him the details he was glad it had happened while he himself was still asleep. The way Vesemir described it, even before Jaskier was fully conscious he was so obviously in such a huge amount of pain that Vesemir had put him back to sleep with a potion before he was awake enough to be aware of his surroundings. 

For the next few days this became standard protocol. Geralt stayed with Jaskier during the day, and Vesemir and Eskel took turns on the night shift. Any time Jaskier stirred, whoever was with him at the time would give him a dose of the sleep potion to relax him. To Geralt, this felt contradictory to making progress, but Vesemir assured him this was what needed to be done. As much as Geralt wanted to let his impatience win out over his reason, he couldn’t deny how uncomfortable Jaskier seemed any time he bordered on consciousness. His breathing would become ragged and uneven, and the muscles in his face and jaw would tense. Even asleep, his pain was evident. 

After about two days of this, he asked Vesemir how long he planned on keeping Jaskier asleep. He informed Geralt that if Jaskier woke now, the pain would surely send him quickly back into unconsciousness. 

“I know it sounds counterintuitive,” Vesemir said, “but letting him wake now would be a step back.” 

Geralt wanted to argue. He’d promised to trust Vesemir though, and he intended to keep his word. 

“His waking though,” Geralt replied, “even though we’re stopping it, the fact that he’s waking at all is a good sign. Isn’t it?” 

“Hmm,” Vesemir took a long pause before answering. “It’s hard to say. He could still take a turn. His body has been through a lot; he’s very weak. We won’t know until he wakes up truly.” 

Geralt did his best to hide his frustration. He just wanted a straight answer. He didn’t blame Vesemir for the vagueness—they were all guessing at this point—but the uncertainty was wearing on him. Vesemir seemed to sense how defeating his statement had been because he added something after seeing Geralt’s reaction. 

“I do think the treatments worked though,” he said. “I’ve listened to his breathing; his lungs sound clearer. I think if he can work through it and heal the damage to his lungs and ribs, then he could have a fighting chance.” 

He knew fighting through all the damage done to his lungs, the fever, the broken ribs, and everything else the bard had been through was no easy task. Still, Geralt had hope. He wanted so badly to see his friend again. 

***

It had been a full nine days since seeing his friend awake when Geralt had the dream. He was sleeping soundly in his own bed, Eskel tending to Jaskier in the sick room, when the image appeared in his mind—so vivid it seemed indistinguishable from reality. It was a scene Geralt had seen countless times before. Until now though, he had never truly appreciated it. 

He was sitting in a tavern, nursing a mostly full cup of ale. He wasn’t here to drink though; he was here for Jaskier. When the pair were on the road together, they got almost as much coin from Jaskier performing as they did from Geralt completing contracts. Even in the small towns, Jaskier was always able to gather a crowd. 

At first Geralt didn’t understand. He didn’t dislike music, but he’d never been an avid fan. It took awhile for him to realize it was about so much more than the music. Jaskier was incredibly talented, yes, but he had this whole aura of warmth, and authenticity, and a genuine love for what he was doing, people couldn’t help but be drawn to him. Watching him perform was so much more than just listening to songs. Not even Geralt was immune to his charm—he never had been, even when he’d tried to deny it back in the beginning. 

In the dream Jaskier was singing for an enthusiastic crowd. Geralt sat in the corner, removed from the masses and probably appearing rather gruff, but enjoying the show just as much as anyone else was. 

From his vantage point, he couldn’t get over how full of life Jaskier seemed. Geralt could tell he was a little bit drunk, his cheeks rosy and his smile wide. Even intoxicated his voice was clear and sweet. His eyes were bright, flitting around the crowded room, forging genuine connections with each person who met his gaze. He moved through the room with liveliness and grace, his body sturdy and unapologetic for the space it took up. His long legs were muscular with a healthy layer of fat as well, his shoulders broad, and his hands were steady and agile as they maneuvered across his lute seemingly of their own accord. Geralt didn’t need to feel it to know that if he took Jaskier’s hand in his own it would be warm and calloused, holding onto the Witcher’s hand as tightly as the Witcher held onto him.

He was so different from the man in bed in the sick room.

Geralt woke from the dream to find himself tangled in his bedsheets, his cheeks wet with tears. He sat up, wiping the tears away with both hands, the morning air cold on his bare chest. The dream had seemed so real. Waking back up in Kaer Morhen almost hurt. His heart ached for the past, which seemed like ancient history now, of watching Jaskier live and perform as he’d used to. He wished he would have appreciated more while he’d had it. He’d never dreamed then that he might be witnessing the prime of his friend’s life. No. He couldn’t afford to think like this. If he didn’t have hope now, he would have nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, so pretty much my whole state is on fire rn, so if these next few chapters are wonky, I'm just gonna blame it on the smoke killing my brain cells. Cool? cool.


	22. Chapter 22

Geralt had just collected himself and grounded himself back in reality after the dream when someone knocked at his door. 

“Come in.” He was glad to hear his voice didn’t betray any of his emotions. 

He expected Vesemir, but was instead met with Eskel. Geralt was immediately on guard as soon as his brother entered, expecting bad news. Eskel must have seen Geralt’s reaction because he gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Vesemir says Jaskier seems to be doing better. He thinks he might wake soon.” 

This was decidedly not bad news. 

Geralt got up and followed Eskel out of the room, pulling on a shirt as he entered the hallway, the floor feeling like ice against his bare feet. If Jaskier was waking, he didn’t want to waste a single moment. He wanted to be there when it happened. 

The two entered the sick room to find Vesemir at Jaskier’s bedside. He stood up as they walked in. 

“Is there anything else you need, Vesemir?” Eskel asked. 

“No. Thank you for your help; now why don’t you go get some sleep,” he told Eskel, who had spent the night at Jaskier’s side. 

He exited, leaving Geralt and Vesemir alone with Jaskier. 

“What’s going on?” Geralt asked. “Eskel said he was doing better.” He approached the bed cautiously, as if his optimism might jinx them. 

Vesemir smiled faintly. “ His heartbeat is getting stronger, his breathing too. I think we might be turning a corner.”

“So are we finally going to let him wake?” Geralt asked. 

“We’ll still have to wait and see if he’s in too much pain. Of course, he’s going to be in pain when he wakes regardless, but if he can get through it enough to stay awake then I can give him something to help with it.” 

Geralt looked at him, dumbfounded. “You had something that could have helped him with his pain, and you’re only mentioning it now?” He reminded himself that Vesemir didn’t act without reason. There was most likely no cause to be angry with him. 

“It and the potion we gave him to treat his lungs would have had adverse reactions. Using it during the treatments was out of the question. Enough time has passed now though; all of that is long since out of his system,” he explained. 

“But he’s been asleep for ten days. Why didn’t we use it when he was trying to wake before?” 

“Before when he was waking he was still in too much pain to function. That meant his body still needed time to rest and heal. He needed to sleep. And anyway, it can be addictive, much more so than the sleep potion. I wanted to wait until he was strong enough to stay conscious and coherent, so there will be less time before he’s healed enough that we can start to wean him off of it.” 

“And now? You think he’s healed enough to be conscious and coherent?” Geralt asked, hopeful he might be finally able to see his friend awake again. 

“Like I said, I could be wrong, but he seems like he’s getting stronger. His heart and lungs both sound much better. If he wakes today, we’ll give it a try. I think if we can manage the pain enough to get some food in him, we’ll be in a pretty good spot.”

Vesemir had spent so much time during the past few weeks managing Geralt’s expectations and making sure he was ready to deal with the fact that Jaskier might not make it. His positivity now convinced Geralt that things might end up alright more than any information he could glean from listening to Jaskier’s heart or lungs. 

Not long after their conversation ended, Vesemir went to prepare the new potion, leaving Geralt alone with Jaskier. He rested a hand on Jaskier’s chest as gently as he could. He wasn’t sure if he was being influenced by what Vesemir had said, but Jaskier’s heartbeat did feel stronger, his breathing too. Did he dare let himself be hopeful? After seeing things go so wrong so many times, worsening more and more and bringing Jaskier impossibly close to death, it was difficult to allow hope back into his mind. Still, the thought of seeing Jaskier awake again was irresistible. Maybe this would be when things would finally start going right.

***

Jaskier slept for what felt like a lifetime. He was back in the all too familiar ocean, which had been haunting his dreams for weeks. Now though, it felt more like reality than any distant memory of his life did. Surely he’d been here for much longer than he’d been alive on earth—in this place halfway between life and death, halfway between a nightmare and a dream. 

He was aware of his pain. He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t in pain. But under the water everything was muted. In the deepest parts he felt almost numb. It was hard to remember why he was here. Why he continued to fight to reach the surface when, if he let himself sink deep enough, he knew the pain would disappear completely and he’d be free. 

Even knowing this fact, he still continued to struggle and fight towards the surface. There was something up there for him. If only he could remember what it was. The closer he got, the sharper his senses became. He could almost remember why he was here. Sometimes he swore he could hear voices, feel the pressure of the bedsheets against his skin, but proximity to the surface brought pain. He fought against it, wanting to be back in the world, but cringing away from the agony which came with it. Without fail, each time he was about to break the surface he was pulled back down, his pain numbing as he sunk down into the depths. Except this time something was different. 

As he got closer and closer he kept expecting the familiar weight to drag him back down, but the weight never came. The distance between his body and the surface shrank, the pain building with each passing second. He could fight it though. He wanted to get to the surface. He wanted to finally find out what was up there which affected him so greatly to make him believe that all this pain was worth fighting towards. 

By the time he broke through, it was excruciating. It seared his chest, sending stabs of agony through his ribs and lungs. His head spun, aching and throbbing, the pain extending down his neck and into his broken arm. All of it combined was almost too much to handle. Almost. 

It was all worth it though, because there he was—Geralt, waiting for him just on the other side, ready to pull him from the water and bring him, in his strong, sturdy arms, back into the world of the living. This was it. This was what he’d been fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our baby boy is back! I've missed him<3


	23. Chapter 23

Jaskier was in pain, that much was obvious. Still Geralt couldn’t help but smile. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but just seeing his friend awake for the first time since his heart had stopped beating was such a huge relief. So much of the time Geralt had spent at his bedside he had been using to figure out how to come to terms with the fact that he might never speak with Jaskier again. Now he could at least know it wasn’t over quite yet. 

“Jaskier. It’s so good to see you. How do you feel?” He wasn’t sure how present Jaskier was. Even if he wasn’t coherent yet, Geralt hoped his voice might be a source of comfort and familiarity. 

Much to his surprise, Jaskier responded. His voice was almost unrecognizable, rough and croaky, so quiet that without his Witcher senses, Geralt probably wouldn’t be able to hear it. It was there though, soft and tired. 

“Hurts.” 

It was disheartening of course, but even this was a good sign. 

“I know,” Geralt said, doing his best to convey his empathy. “Vesemir has something that should help. He’s getting a potion ready now.” 

“No potions.” Even as quiet as it was, his insistence was clear. 

Geralt’s face darkened. Of course Jaskier would have traumatic memories associated with drinking potions from the Witchers; he had every right to. Part of Geralt had hoped the coma might help erase some of the bad memories, but this didn’t seem to be the case. 

“Not like before,” he replied, knowing how important it was to convince Jaskier to trust them and take the new potion. “This one isn’t a treatment; it’s just to help with pain.” 

“Oh.” 

“If you can just stay awake a little bit longer it will be ready, he assured Jaskier. “We’ll get you feeling better.” 

***

If he could just stay awake a little bit longer. The exhaustion pulled at him of course, even after just a few minutes. Seeing Geralt though, being with him and continuing to be with him was much more tempting than returning to the dark lonely depths of his ocean. 

He looked up at Geralt, trying to relearn every aspect of his face, afraid he might have forgotten after being asleep for so long. No, every scar, his golden eyes, the curve of his jaw, it all was exactly where it needed to be. Some of the worry lines seemed to be new though. He couldn’t help but wonder what Geralt had been up to while he’d been asleep. 

“How long was I gone?” he asked. Talking took a lot of effort and every word hurt, scraping against his sore throat, the extra breath it took sending a deep ache through his chest. 

“Ten days.” Geralt answered, his tone grim. 

“How close was I? To—” he couldn’t finish. He swallowed hard, regretting it immediately; it felt like swallowing broken glass. 

Geralt took a deep breath. Jaskier wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. 

“It was close.” These words seemed hard to say. Jaskier wondered what he was holding back. 

“I’m here now,” he said, the words barely audible. 

All this conversation was taking a lot out of him. He let his eyes close, not wanting to keep expending the energy it took to keep them open. 

“Vesemir will be back soon,” Geralt said. 

“I know,” Jaskier responded, already feeling the tug of sleep. “I’m just resting.” His words began to slur together as he drifted back into unconsciousness. 

***

Geralt was uneasy when Jaskier went to sleep. He was reassured by their short conversation, but still a part of him worried that if he went to sleep he would be out for another ten days. 

Vesemir returned not long after Jaskier fell asleep. Geralt told him about their conversation and he seemed to be encouraged by this new development. 

“So do we wake him up to give him the potion?” Geralt asked. 

“We can let him sleep,” Vesemir said. “He needs the rest.”

Geralt nodded. 

“I’ll wait with him until he wakes again.” 

“Nonsense,” Vesemir said. “Eskel stayed with him last night; I’ve had plenty of rest. Go get some food.” 

Geralt gave him an exasperated look. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re wasting away Wolf. You spend too much time taking care of Jaskier; you’re not taking care of yourself.” 

This may be true, but he required a lot less caring for than Jaskier did. 

“I’m sure he’ll still be sleeping by the time you get back,” Vesemir assured him. “Now go, before I drag you out myself.” 

***

It was several more hours before Jaskier woke again. When he did, Vesemir gave him the potion, explaining everything he did as he did it, making sure Jaskier knew he wasn’t being tricked into undergoing another treatment. 

The effects were much less instantaneous than the red potion. Over the next hour or so though, Geralt noticed his muscles relaxing, the creases between his eyebrows disappearing, and his breath slowing. He even smiled. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his words all running together, his eyes trained on Geralt’s face. 

Geralt smiled. His dazed state reminded Geralt of all the nights he’d spent intoxicated with Jaskier in taverns and at banquets. He had always been a happy drunk. 

“I’m glad you’re here too, Jaskier,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Don’t miss me Witcher, I’m right here,” Jaskier replied. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

***

The new potion was everything the old potion hadn’t been. The other one had brought fire, and pain, making all of his muscles contract until he thought his bones might snap. This new one though, eased the fire in his chest and throat, and relaxed his muscles. It numbed the pain, but not in the way the bottom of the ocean had. There he had been cold and alone, surrounded by darkness and silence. Here the room was pleasant and warm, cheerful and well lit. And most importantly he wasn’t by himself anymore. Geralt was here with him. No, this was nothing like the bottom of the ocean. Jaskier was in the clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is kind of filler-y. More to come soon though<3


	24. Chapter 24

Over the next few days, Jaskier continued to get stronger. There were still setbacks, of course, but between managing his pain and getting him to keep food down on a fairly regular basis, he was returning from the brink of death rather well. 

One afternoon while Geralt was sitting with him, he brought up something which hadn’t crossed Geralt’s mind in quite awhile. 

“Whatever happened to my lute?” he asked. 

Geralt gave him a quizzical look. 

“It’s just, I haven’t seen it since…” he trailed off. 

“It’s in my room with the rest of your things,” Geralt answered truthfully. “You haven’t had much use for it lately.” 

He had meant it as a joke, but this seemed to sadden Jaskier. 

“I’m sorry,” he hurried to apologize. “I didn’t mean—” 

“No,” Jaskier said. “I miss it. That’s all.” 

“I can go get it for you,” Geralt offered. He wasn’t sure what use Jaskier would have for his lute now, but he also knew the bard’s relationship with his instrument was something more deep and complex than he had the capacity to comprehend.

Jaskier didn’t answer, but the way he looked at Geralt made his desire clear. 

“I’ll go get it.” 

He went to his room, locating the lute which hadn’t been touched in weeks, and brought it back to the sick room. 

Jaskier’s face lit up as soon as he saw it. Geralt took it and deposited it on the bard’s lap. He put his good hand on the body of the instrument, plucking a few of the strings. 

“She’s out of tune,” he said, sounding a bit disappointed. Geralt had no idea how he could tell from just playing a few notes. If it was though—and Geralt had no doubt Jaskier knew what he was talking about—there wasn’t much he could do about it with his right hand still tightly wrapped. 

“Do you want me to help?” Geralt asked, not sure quite how he could, but wanting to nonetheless. 

Jaskier looked up, looking pleasantly surprised and eager. 

“Would you?” 

“Of course.” Geralt took the lute from his lap, doing his best to hold it how he’d seen Jaskier so many times before. His shoulders were much too broad for the strap, but he held it close to his body, terrified of breaking it. 

Jaskier gave him a quick lesson on how to press down on the strings, and which way to turn the knobs at the top to make the notes higher or lower. 

“Now just play the bottom string,” he instructed. “I’ll tell you which way to turn the knob.” 

Geralt did as he was told, making the necessary adjustments as Jaskier listened and decided which strings needed to be adjusted which ways. 

Even after years of knowing him, Geralt never ceased to be amazed by Jaskier. No amount of Witcher training, or magical trials could have given him the skills Jaskier was exhibiting effortlessly here from his sick bed. This was naturally born talent. 

“Now put this finger here,” Jaskier said, using his good hand to guide Geralt’s. “And this one here.” He arranged the Witcher’s fingers on the neck of the lute. “Now your other hand like this.” He made the motion with his good hand. 

Geralt did his best to copy exactly what he did, and was surprised when a clear and resonant chord rang out into the quiet room. 

“Like that?” he asked, looking up from his intense focus on the lute. Jaskier was positively beaming, giving Geralt the biggest smile he’d seen in weeks. 

“Exactly!” 

Geralt smiled back, proud of himself for doing a good job, and incredibly happy to have brightened Jaskier’s mood. 

“Now try this one.” 

He spent the next little while doing his best to teach Geralt the basics of the lute, being very patient and encouraging as Geralt tried to wrap his brain around this task which was so different from anything he’d ever been trained to do. If Lambert walked in right now, he would never hear the end of it, but he didn’t care. Making Jaskier happy was so much more important to him than his image in his brother’s eyes. 

“There, now you can take my place if this doesn’t heal right,” he said, looking down at his broken arm. 

“Give it time,” Geralt said. “It’s going to take longer considering..” he didn’t finish the thought, not wanting to say it. But Jaskier knew what he meant. “We can unsplint them in a week or two,” he continued, “your fingers at least, and check on how they’re healing. Once the bones are mended, I’ll give you some exercises you can do to strengthen them. You’ll be playing again before you know it,” he assured him. 

“Then I’ll at least be able to play,” Jaskier said, “even if I never get my voice back.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geralt said, doing his best to be comforting. “Your voice will come back.” True, Jaskier barely had any voice at all right now, but Geralt was sure it would come back with care and time. It had to. 

“What’s this?” Jaskier asked, changing the subject. He reached out to Geralt’s right hand which still rested on the neck of the lute. He gently traced a line across Geralt’s knuckles. The stitches were long gone, but an angry pink scar still marked where he’d split the skin open. 

“Hmm.” He was sort of ashamed to admit it. “I punched a tree.” It sounded ridiculous when he said it like that. 

“Why would you do that?” 

“It was the morning of the first treatment,” he explained. “I was...upset.” 

“Oh.” 

“How much do you remember?” Geralt asked, half hoping he wouldn’t know what he was referencing. 

Jaskier looked suddenly somber. 

“All of it.” 

That was what he was afraid of. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say. 

“Don’t be. I’m glad you did it.” 

“Really?” 

“It was terrible,” Jaskier said, “in ways I can’t begin to describe, but it was worth it.” He gave Geralt a faint, half smile. “Because it’s over now. And I’m here with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, it's been a rough week. Had a good cry before writing this one, but writing this chapter cheered me up significantly. And in other good news, the air quality in my town was so hazardous today that my boss decided not to open the shop, so I didn't have to work. Because of this i had time to write not only this chapter, but also another short, fluffy one shot. You can check it out if you're into that kind of thing. No pressure.   
> Also, I made the executive decision to give Jaskier perfect pitch. I think he deserves it.


	25. Chapter 25

As soon as it was clear Jaskier wasn’t going to fall back into a coma, Vesemir had him doing exercises. He’d been completely bedridden for coming up on a month now; he’d lost much of the muscle he’d once had. Luckily he’d been in fantastic shape before falling ill—following a Witcher around was no easy task, especially when said Witcher is on a horse—but they still had a long road to recovery ahead of them. 

They had started small, giving him movements to do in bed, working on being able to sit up without support, flexing the muscles in his legs and feet, drinking on his own, and feeding himself, things like that. He was making amazing progress, impressing all of them. Out of everyone, Geralt was his biggest supporter, cheering him on as, slowly but surely, he began to build back the muscles he’d lost. More than anything though, Jaskier pushed himself, continuing to work even after Geralt or Vesemir said he could be finished for the day, or rejecting their offers to help lift a cup to his mouth when his hands began to shake. He seemed determined to get back to his pre-illness shape as quickly as possible. 

After an impossibly short amount of time, Geralt found himself watching Jaskier pull himself out of bed and stand up. 

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked. “We don’t have to do this yet Jaskier; we have plenty of time.” 

“I’m sure,” he said with a faint smile. He was clearly trying to put on an air of confidence, but Geralt could see the nervousness behind his eyes. “The sooner I can walk the sooner I can get out of this damned room.” 

Geralt offered up a supporting arm, but Jaskier pushed it away. 

“I can do this. Have some faith in me.” 

Geralt had plenty of faith in Jaskier—in the past few weeks he’d seen the bard pull off feats which were nothing short of miraculous. Still, he would hate to watch him fall. 

He respected Jaskier’s wishes though, taking a step back and watching as Jaskier took a tentative step forward. His legs were wobbly, but he pushed on. 

“There you go. You’ve got it,” he encouraged as Jaskier took a second step. Over the course of the next few minutes Jaskier made it all the way across the room to the door. By the time he got there he was panting, his legs and hands both visibly shaking. 

“Great job Jaskier. You did it.” Geralt’s smile was wide as he approached his friend, proud of what he’d achieved. Jaskier didn’t seem proud though. 

Geralt walked over, intending to either help or carry Jaskier back to bed—the walk had clearly exhausted him—but again, Jaskier shook him off. 

“It’s fine. I can do it.” 

“Jaskier, you don’t need to push yourself. You’ve done a lot today. You’ve done enough.” 

“I haven’t. I’ve taken ten steps,” he argued. 

“Two weeks ago you were dead. Ten steps is amazing.” 

Jaskier glared at him. 

“Please let me take you back to bed.” 

He tried to take a step away from Geralt, but he stumbled. The Witcher caught him before he hit the floor, lowering him down gently so he sat with his back against the door. 

He wanted to say, “see, I told you you’d done enough,” but he knew that wouldn’t help anything. Jaskier was frustrated enough for the both of them. Instead he lowered himself to the floor as well, so the two of them could be eye level. 

“Fuck.” Jaskier buried his head in his hands.

“You’ve made incredible progress. You’re going to continue to make progress, but not if you push yourself too hard,” Geralt said, doing his best to comfort his clearly upset friend. 

“I’m just so tired of being stuck in this room,” Jaskier responded, his head still down. 

“Then we can go somewhere else,” Geralt said. “But you don’t have to work yourself to death trying to get there.” 

“Walking ten steps shouldn’t be working myself to death,” Jaskier sulked. 

Geralt understood why he was frustrated. Going from being able to walk for hours on end, to barely being able to get out of bed must be infuriating, but overworking himself would only slow his progress in the long run. 

“I know,” Geralt said. “But it is, and that’s how it’s going to be for awhile.” 

Jaskier finally lifted his head to look Geralt in the eye, giving him a sort of “that’s not encouraging at all” expression. 

“I’m going to be here though,” he continued. “And I want to help you in any way that I can.” 

Jaskier sighed. 

“You’re going to be walking better before you know it. Regaining muscle and endurance takes time though. Give yourself time.” 

“I just feel trapped. You know? I haven’t been outside this room in weeks,” Jaskier replied. 

“Let’s talk to Vesemir then, I’m sure there are things you can do which don’t require pushing yourself past your physical limits.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” Jaskier asked, almost as if this were a challenge. 

“I’m not sure, but until we figure it out will you please let me help you back to bed?” 

“Fine,” Jaskier conceded, letting Geralt pick him up and carry him back across the room to his bed. “But just you wait, before you know it I’m going to be back following you and Roach around, and annoying the hell out of you.” 

Geralt laughed, glad to see Jaskier’s sense of humor was returning. He deposited Jaskier on the bed, smiling. 

“Good,” he said. “I’m planning on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is kind of short. Tonight didn't go quite according to plan. More to come soon.


	26. Chapter 26

“I think that’s a great idea. Some fresh air will do him good.” Vesemir said. 

“Are you sure? The cold is what did this to him in the first place.” 

Geralt had explained Jaskier’s frustration with being stuck in the sick room, and much to his surprise, Vesemir seemed to be all for getting Jaskier outside for a bit. 

“He’ll still need help regulating his body temperature. Bundle him up well. Make sure he doesn’t overheat. Don’t stay outside for too long. But overall, I think it would be good for him.” 

“Hmm.” Part of Geralt wanted to give Jaskier what he wanted. Another part of him was terrified he was going to fall ill again. He remembered their days traveling to Kaer Morhen, out in the snow, watching Jaskier get worse and worse with each passing day, succumbing to the very cold he wanted to go back out into now. 

“Lambert and Eskel were planning on training out in the yard this afternoon. It’s a beautiful day. I think Jaskier would really enjoy watching.” 

Geralt still didn’t respond, going over the pros and cons in his head. Vesemir seemed to notice this. 

“The fresh air and sunlight will be good for his body. The entertainment and change of scenery will be good for his soul. You can’t keep him locked up in a tower forever. I know you’re scared of losing him, but if you hold him too tightly he’ll only resent you.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” conceded. 

Vesemir smiled. “It’s a beautiful day, Wolf; go enjoy it.” 

***

They spent the afternoon sitting out in the yard, watching Lambert and Eskel spar. His brothers tried to coerce Geralt into joining them, but he was reluctant to leave Jaskier’s side.  
The bard was bundled up in furs, sipping on a steaming drink he held in his good hand and kept pressed against his chest when it wasn’t lifted to his mouth. 

He seemed to enjoy the afternoon’s proceedings immensely. Geralt had to admit, watching Witchers go at it was pretty entertaining. And it was a beautiful day, cold, but sunny, with very little wind. Still, he kept a close eye on Jaskier, intent on catching any signs that things were going sideways as soon as they appeared. None seemed to though, it appeared to be a perfectly enjoyable afternoon. 

Geralt had a good time heckling his brothers, shouting out mistakes, and unsolicited advice, teasing when one was foiled by a simple misstep or wrongly placed strike. His “help” was met with taunts from his brothers, mostly Lambert, and more futile attempts to bait or challenge him into joining them. This seemed to please Jaskier. His laughter was music to Geralt’s ears. It had been so long since he’d heard the sound; he didn’t realize how much he’d missed it. 

As soon as the sun even hinted at disappearing behind the trees, Geralt and Jaskier went back inside. They shared a meal with Eskel and Lambert back up in the sickroom, but Jaskier began to nod off pretty much as soon as he finished eating, which cut the evening a bit short. All in all though, they had seemed to make it through their day out with no consequences. Or at least that was what Geralt thought. 

***

Jaskier was exhausted. He was exceedingly pleased with his afternoon outside watching the Witchers train, but it was more activity than he’d done in close to a month now. It left him more tired than he cared to admit. He did his best to stay awake through dinner with Geralt and his brothers, but as soon as he wasn’t focused on lifting his spoon to his mouth, his eyelids began to shut. He didn’t fight it, letting himself nod off to the sounds of the Witchers’ chatter. 

He’d hoped he would sleep through the night, but alas, no such luck. 

He woke up from restless dreams to a dark room, and Geralt asleep in the chair next to him. He was acutely aware of what was about to happen, but he denied it, not willing to accept that this was the direction his night was going to go. 

He propped himself up on his elbow, willing the sick feeling to go away. His whole body was shaking and he could feel the nausea creeping up from his stomach to the back of his throat. 

“Geralt,” he said as loud as he could manage, which was just barely above a whisper. Luckily, it didn’t take much to wake his Witcher. His eyes fluttered open as soon as Jaskier uttered the first syllable, ready to help in any way possible. Unfortunately, Jaskier wasn’t sure if there was anything which could be done to help at this point. The misery of what was about to happen seemed inevitable. 

***

“Hmm. What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Geralt was speaking before he was fully awake, concern for Jaskier being his automatic response to anything nowadays. 

“I don’t feel well,” Jaskier replied. 

He adjusted his eyes to the darkness. Jaskier didn’t look well. He was trembling and a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead and cheeks. Geralt moved closer to the bed.

“Are you in pain? Are your lungs alright?” he asked, afraid his fears about this afternoon were coming true after all. 

“Geralt, I really don’t feel well,” Jaskier repeated, with more urgency this time. 

Oh. 

He retrieved the basin from its home on the floor next to the bed, helping Jaskier sit up, and setting it in his lap. 

He always felt awkward in situations like this, because there’s little which can be done to remedy them. All he could do was sit and watch as his friend sat, miserable, leaning over the basin and waiting for the inevitable. 

After a minute or so of uncomfortable silence, Jaskier succumbed to his nausea, the muscles in his stomach and neck visibly tensing as he threw up into the basin. Geralt sat next to him, feeling useless. He longed to comfort his friend, but he sensed they were in for a long night, no matter what he did to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one. I just needed to take a minute, yknow?  
> In other news, it rained! The air quality is so so so much better now. Better days ahead?


	27. Chapter 27

Geralt trudged up the stairs, a cup of water and a now clean basin in his hands. Kaer Morhen was quiet and cold; everyone else in it was sleeping except Jaskier and him. It was eerie. 

He returned to the sickroom to find Jaskier still sitting up in bed, leaning up against the headboard, looking pale and overall very sickly. His eyes were closed, but Geralt could tell he was awake by his breathing and the way the muscles in his jaw were still tense. 

“Feeling any better?” he asked, not feeling very optimistic about the answer. 

Jaskier shook his head, not opening his eyes. Geralt brought the basin back over and set it on the bed, not wanting Jaskier to have to ask for it again. 

He walked up to the bedside and laid his hand on Jaskier’s forehead. It was too warm for his liking. Jaskier relaxed at his touch though; that was when he noticed the way the bard had his arms wrapped around his chest. 

“Are your ribs alright?” Geralt asked. He couldn’t imagine the throwing up had felt good on his broken ribs. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jaskier said, clearly lying. 

“Do you want to take something to help the pain?” 

“Please,” he replied, finally looking up, a sheepish expression on his face. 

Geralt went and retrieved a dose of the potion from where they kept it in the cupboard. 

Jaskier took it gratefully, washing it down with about half of the cup of water. Geralt hoped this would be enough to knock him out for the rest of the night. He spent the next half hour or so sitting at Jaskier’s bedside, waiting for him to fall back asleep, but then he was pulling the basin back into his lap. Geralt could only hope the potion had been in his system for enough time to have any effect. Looking at the way Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed and how his breaths were sharp and quick though, he somehow doubted it had the chance to do much. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier said once he was finished throwing up for the second time. 

“Hey,” Geralt said, putting a hand on Jaskier’s thigh, afraid rubbing his back would hurt his ribs, “it’s alright. What can I do to help?” 

Jaskier looked at him, utterly defeated. “I just want to sleep.” 

Unfortunately, sleep didn’t seem to be an option tonight. Over the next several hours Jaskier would doze for maybe half an hour at a time, sometimes less, before waking to be sick again. Geralt stayed awake in the chair next to him, ready to give the bard anything he might need. There seemed to be nothing which could be done though; it looked like Jaskier was just going to have to wait this one out. 

Geralt did his best to coax water into him so he wouldn’t be burning his throat vomiting bile, but Jaskier didn’t keep anything down for long. 

After the eighth or ninth time, Jaskier looked like he was asleep sitting up, only conscious enough to lean over the basin. His whole frame shook as his body rejected what little he had left in his stomach. 

They had fallen into a routine at this point. Geralt took the basin once he was finished and asked Jaskier if he needed anything. Like each time before, Jaskier assured him there was nothing to be done. 

Geralt brushed away Jaskier’s hair, which was stuck to his sweat-covered forehead. He then cupped Jaskier’s cheek in his hand, trying to figure out if the bard had a fever, or if he was just paranoid. Jaskier leaned into his hand, closing his eyes and trusting his Witcher to hold him up.

Geralt’s heart ached watching his friend be so miserable, but he was also starting to get quite worried. He did his best not to let it show, putting on a strong, comforting face for his suffering bard. What if this was his illness resurfacing? What if this was the beginning of another spiral back down to the brink of death? He knew he shouldn’t have taken Jaskier outside. Why had he let Vesemir talk him into this? 

Seeing his bard like this reminded him of that night at the inn after Jaskier had broken his arm. Then it had been simply a matter of being in pain and drinking too much on an empty stomach. Now it had the potential to be the signifier that Jaskier was ill again. He had survived it last time by the skin of his teeth. He couldn’t take any more.

It was the early hours of the morning now as Geralt again, trudged up the stairs. All of his worries and concerns about Jaskier were swirling around his mind as he walked through the deserted halls. Without thinking, he began to hum one of Jaskier’s songs—the same one he had hummed when bathing comatose Jaskier all those days ago. It had brought him comfort then, and it brought him comfort now. 

He wished he could remember what the song was about. The tune brought back vivid mental images of watching Jaskier perform in crowded taverns and parties. It must have been a crowd favorite, because there were a lot of memories associated with it. Or maybe it was just his favorite. It probably was, considering it was the first one to come to mind. He would have to remember to ask Jaskier what the words were once he was feeling better. 

When he walked back into the room, Jaskier was curled in a ball under the covers, his broken arm sprawled out next to him. His shoulders still trembled a bit, but he looked more relaxed than he had all night. He stopped humming as he approached the bed, assuming Jaskier was asleep, but as he leant down to pull the blankets up over the bard’s shaking shoulders, he spoke. 

“Don’t stop,” he said, opening his eyes just enough to look at Geralt through the darkness. “I liked it.” 

Geralt couldn’t help but imagine what he’d have done if Jaskier had asked the Witcher to hum his songs for him two months ago. He’d have written him off as a delusional narcissist for sure. But now, it was hard to imagine something he wouldn’t do for Jaskier. 

“Of course.” He began to hum again, and much to his relief, Jaskier finally slipped back into a deep and restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for sure most definitely not loosely based on what happened the first time I ever got drunk


	28. Chapter 28

Jaskier had only been asleep for a little more than an hour when Eskel entered. He walked over to where Geralt sat, still awake in his chair, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“That time already?” Geralt asked. 

“You look awful,” Eskel said. “Rough night?” 

They spoke in low tones, careful not to wake Jaskier.

Geralt chuckled. “That’s putting it lightly,” he replied. 

“What happened? Is he alright?” 

Geralt nodded. “He was up all night throwing up,” he explained. “I think he’s okay now though; he only just got to sleep.” 

“Alright. I can take over from here,” Eskel said. “Get up; I want the chair.” 

Geralt stood up, stretching and trying to return the feeling to his sleeping feet. 

Eskel took the chair, settling into it before looking back at Geralt. “Vesemir made breakfast. He promised to save you some, but I’m not sure how long he can fend off Lambert. You might want to get down there quick. 

Geralt grinned, relieved that Jaskier was sleeping soundly and excited for a good meal. 

“Noted,” he responded. “Take good care of him while I’m gone.” 

“Of course,” Eskel said. “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.” 

Geralt headed back downstairs for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past day. This time though, he was met with a bright, bustling kitchen instead of a cold and desolate one. 

“Wolf!” Vesemir greeted him with a little more energy than he was ready to match. “You look awful.” 

“So I’ve been told,” He grumbled, sitting down at the table, snatching the plate of food which Lambert was trying to slide over to his spot. 

“Nice try,” he said, pulling it close and planting his forearms firmly in front of it. “Eskel told me you’d try that one.” He shoveled a huge mouthful of food into his mouth, not realizing how hungry he was until he started eating. “I’ve been through too much to be deprived of this now,” he said, his mouth still full. 

“So what happened? Is Jaskier okay?” Vesemir asked, sitting down in between Geralt and Lambert, no doubt trying to preemptively stop a brawl. 

“He was up all night sick,” Geralt explained. “Didn’t hardly get any sleep; couldn’t even keep down water. I don’t know what happened.” 

“Is he okay now?” 

“I think so. He seemed to be sleeping pretty well when I left. Eskel is with him now.” 

“He’s going to be okay,” Vesemir assured him, “as long as his ribs fared alright. I had a feeling this might happen.” 

“What do you mean?” Geralt asked. “You knew this was going to happen?” 

“No.” Vesemir hesitated. “He had a long day yesterday, walking again and going outside. His body went through a lot of stress.” 

“But you’re the one who told us to go outside,” Geralt pointed out. “Why would you do that if you knew it was going to make him sick?” 

“Now I never said I knew it would make him sick,” Vesemir said, very clearly keeping a calm tone. No doubt, he was afraid of Geralt getting angry again. Geralt sort of wanted to get angry again, but he wasn’t going to let himself. 

“Then what did you know?” 

“I knew the stress his body went through starting to walk again and the energy it took to spend time with you and your brothers was a lot. I knew there was a chance it would have some adverse effects, but it’s a good thing it happened.” 

Geralt was stunned. A good thing? Jaskier had been sick and miserable all night. 

“I can’t imagine how this was a good thing, Vesemir. He had an awful night.” 

“I know, I know, and I hate to see him in pain, you know that, but now we know his limits.” 

Geralt just looked at him, still not totally following. 

“Now we know how much his body can handle. We can plan his rehabilitation around this, so we won’t ever cross that line again.” 

That was good at least. Geralt couldn’t bear watching his friend suffer. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to do it again now that they knew his limits, as Vesemir put it. 

“We just need to make sure he gets some good rest today, and get some food and water into him. He’s bound to be dehydrated. Other than that though, he’ll be alright. We can start working on his rehabilitation again tomorrow or maybe the next day—whenever he feels rested enough.” 

“Hmm,” was all Geralt said in response. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Vesemir not warning him about what he thought could happen to Jaskier. He’d felt blindsided last night, and scared. Even if he could have only been spared from the paranoia that Jaskier was going to get bad again. 

“And you need to rest too,” Vesemir reminded him. “I doubt you slept a wink last night.” 

He was right, but Geralt wasn’t quite ready to agree with him yet. 

“Finish your food and then go sleep,” he instructed, “at least for a couple of hours. If last night was as bad as you say, I doubt you’ll be missing much if you disappear for the rest of the morning.” 

He was right about that. Geralt couldn’t imagine Jaskier would want to do anything but lie around and nap for the rest of the day. Geralt couldn’t blame him; he felt the same. 

“Yeah, you should go get some sleep,” Lambert echoed. “We can finish cleaning up in here.” He walked behind Geralt, trying to snatch the last sausage from his plate. He was quick, but not quicker than Geralt. He grabbed his brother’s hand and squeezed it hard, crushing Lambert’s fingers in his fist. He let go just before he did any real damage. He had no doubts that it hurt though. 

“Ouch,” Lambert said, confirming what Geralt knew to be true. He shook out his hand, taking a step back. “You need to work on your anger issues.” 

This was funny coming from him, since Lambert hadn’t witnessed the couple of big angry episodes he’d had in the past few weeks. 

“I wouldn’t be angry if I didn’t have pests trying to steal my breakfast.” 

“Pests? You hurt me Geralt,” Lambert replied, holding a hand to his heart and feigning distress. 

“Lambert,” Vesemir warned. Thankfully this was enough to shut him up. 

“Really though,” Vesemir continued. “Go and rest. I promise your boy will be well taken care of while you’re asleep.” 

Your boy. It was funny to hear, but Geralt didn’t dislike it. He got up and put his now empty plate with the rest of the dirty dishes. 

“Thank you,” he said to Vesemir. “For the breakfast, and for looking after Jaskier. I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course, Wolf.” Vesemir smiled. “Anything you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lambert, you sneaky little bitch<3


	29. Chapter 29

When Geralt woke, it was late morning. He felt like he could easily fall back asleep for another couple of hours, but he wanted to see Jaskier and make sure he was feeling better. 

He padded down the hall to the sick room, still in the process of waking up. He arrived at the sick room to find Jaskier awake and engaged in an animated discussion with Eskel. He looked a thousand times better than he had last night. The color had returned to his face and the familiar light behind his eyes was back. 

Geralt just stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Jaskier told one of the many tales he’d accumulated while traveling with his Witcher. He talked with his hands, or his good hand anyway, exaggerating the story to his patient listener, Eskel. 

He stopped once he saw Geralt, smiling and letting his hand fall. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Geralt said, walking into the room. 

“No, of course not. I’ve missed you.” 

“Jaskier and I were just exchanging some stories,” Eskel said. 

Geralt pulled up a chair next to Eskel’s. “Not about me I hope.” 

“Oh, we would never,” Eskel said, giving Jaskier a not so discreet wink. 

“Well that’s good, because I have plenty of embarrassing stories about you too,” Geralt threatened good naturedly. 

“Now who said anything about embarrassing,” Eskel said, but Jaskier was clearly trying to stifle his laughter. “Anyway, I’d love to stick around, but I promised Lambert I would train with him this afternoon, and well, you know how Lambert is, so I’d better be going.” 

“Is that so?” 

“It is so. I’ll see you two later then.” 

“Bye Eskel,” Jaskier called out as the other Witcher left the room. 

“Well you two seem to be best pals now,” Geralt said once his brother was gone. 

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Jaskier teased. 

“No, I just don’t like the idea of you two teaming up against me,” Geralt replied. 

“A tempting idea, but I don’t think Eskel and I alone are enough to take you on, White Wolf. Now you and I and Eskel together against Lambert… There’s an idea.” 

Geralt chuckled. “You’re catching on quick, bard.” 

Jaskier just smiled. 

“So you’re looking better,” Geralt said, changing the subject—afraid Jaskier’s sense of mischief, if left unchecked, could wreak havoc on the delicate ecosystem of Kaer Morhen. “Are you feeling better?”

Jaskier nodded. “Loads better. Still a little shaky, but I was able to keep my breakfast down, so that’s an improvement.” 

“Good, I’m glad. Is there anything else you need?” he asked. 

“Some more water would be nice.” 

Geralt remembered what Vesemir had said about Jaskier being dehydrated. He was glad he and Jaskier were on the same page. 

“Of course.” He took the mostly empty cup of water from the bedside table. “I’ll be back.” 

He brought back a full cup of water, along with a jug, not wanting to have to keep leaving the sickroom to get water. 

Jaskier was quick to express his gratitude for the water, and his happy mood seemed to persist, but Geralt couldn’t help but notice the way he winced as he tried to get comfortable in the bed. 

“Everything okay?” Geralt asked. “Are your ribs in a lot of pain?” 

“No, my ribs are fine,” he replied, casually brushing off his question. “Well, I mean, they hurt, but not much worse than normal. It’s just my muscles are sore from yesterday, you know, walking and being violently ill and all.”

Geralt was glad he felt well enough to joke, but he was kicking himself for not anticipating this. After all, he was no stranger to sore muscles. 

“Here,” he said, half sitting on the bed next to Jaskier, “this should help.” Starting at his calves, Geralt worked his way up Jaskier’s leg, massaging the sore muscles, and doing his best to ignore how much of Jaskier’s thigh he could hold in one hand. He reminded himself that Jaskier was on the mend. He was gaining weight again now; there was no need to worry about him wasting away to nothing anymore. “Is that okay?” 

“Amazing,” Jaskier replied. 

Jaskier chatted to him about this and that, as Geralt slowly worked his way up the bard’s right leg, before moving over to his left. Once he finished that, Geralt instructed him to move forward so he could sit between Jaskier and the headboard, being careful to avoid hurting his ribs as he started to rub his shoulders. 

“You don’t need to be so careful you know,” Jaskier said, looking over his shoulder at the Witcher. “You’re not going to break me.” 

A vivid image appeared in his mind—Jaskier, not three feet away from where they sat now, dead on the floor, his ribs audibly breaking as Vesemir tried desperately to restart his heart. 

It was a bone chilling memory, but Geralt didn’t let the emotions it evoked show on his face. He knew that Jaskier was aware of how his ribs had been broken—Vesemir had explained what had happened a few days after he’d woken up— but Geralt doubted he made the connection between the casual comment he’d just made, and the harrowing memory that went with it. 

Geralt forced a smile onto his face. 

“Alright. Just let me know if it’s too much, okay?” 

“I will.” 

He continued to chatter as Geralt worked the knots out of Jaskier’s muscles. After fifteen minutes or so though, he trailed off. At first Geralt thought he was in pain, afraid he’d done something to hurt his friend. 

“Jaskier?” 

No response. 

He was beginning to worry, but then he noticed how slow and even his breaths were. He leaned over the bard’s shoulder to look and see if everything was alright. Much to his amusement, he saw that Jaskier had fallen asleep. He smiled, happy to see he was getting some much needed rest. 

Geralt leaned back against the headboard, gently moving Jaskier so he was leaning up against his side. It was the same way they’d slept so often on the road to Kaer Morhen. He’d forgotten how comfortable it was. Before he knew it, he felt his eyes start to close too, the long night catching up with him as well. He didn’t fight it, unable to think of anything he’d rather be doing than napping with his bard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just your classic, heterosexual, thigh massage, yknow? Guys bein dudes.


	30. Chapter 30

Geralt woke to the sound of someone entering the room.   
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” 

It was Eskel, standing in the doorway and looking awkward. 

“No, it’s fine,” Geralt said, his voice thick with sleep. Jaskier was still fast asleep up against him. “What did you need?” 

“It’s nothing, Vesemir was just wondering if we could clean the stables. He said he’d come sit with Jaskier. 

“Alright,” Geralt said reluctantly. What he really wanted to do was go back to sleep, but he did miss Roach, and he had no doubts that the stables needed cleaning. “I’ll meet you down there; I just need to get dressed.”

“Oh, okay,” Eskel responded, still looking uncomfortable as he hastened to shut the door.   
Geralt was careful not to wake Jaskier as he climbed out of bed, gently laying the bard down and covering him with the blanket. 

***

“Geralt! I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up,” Eskel called out. He was already in the stables shoveling hay. 

“Where’s Lambert? He should be helping too.” 

The truth was, Geralt was late because he’d stopped by the kitchens to get a treat for Roach. He felt bad for not coming down to visit her since arriving. Yes, he’d been rather preoccupied, but he still missed his horse. He was grateful his brothers had been picking up the slack in his absence. She didn’t look poorly taken care of in any way. She looked annoyed with him, that was undeniable, but she didn’t look unhealthy. 

“He did it last time. He says it’s our turn.” 

Last time. He guessed that was fair. That would have been when he and Eskel were fully occupied taking care of Jaskier. Not that it didn’t take up most of their time nowadays too, but leaving him no longer caused the same anxiety it had when he’d been holding onto life by his fingertips. 

“Well, I guess we won’t have to put up with him then,” Geralt joked. Despite his annoying tendencies, Geralt did genuinely love Lambert, but it was still fun to poke fun at him. Eskel chuckled.

The two of them worked in silence for quite a while before Eskel spoke up. 

“So you and Jaskier,” he began. “How long have you two been traveling together? I’d heard about the famous bard, of course, and rumors that he travelled with the White Wolf, but I just assumed they were gossip. You were never one to travel with people before.” He stopped working for a second to look up at his brother. “What changed?” 

Geralt thought for a moment. What had changed. “Well I’m sure you know by now how persistent he can be,” Geralt explained. “I guess he wore me down.” 

“Wore you down?” Eskel asked, feigning shock. “I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be more stubborn than you.” 

Geralt laughed. “Then you don’t know Jaskier as well as I thought you did.” 

“No but really,” Eskel persisted. “What does he get from it? I can’t imagine following around a Witcher is much fun.” 

Geralt wasn’t quite sure why his brother was suddenly so curious about his friendship with Jaskier, but he decided to indulge him. 

“He travels for his work too, I think he likes the company. Maybe he’s in it for the free bodyguard. I’m really not sure; I’ve never sat down and asked him.” He found himself starting to get defensive as he tried to explain his relationship with Jaskier, as if Eskel had some sort of nefarious reasoning behind his questioning, which he was sure he didn’t. “And we don’t travel together all the time anyway. We just cross paths every so often and if it’s beneficial for both of us, we’ll go together for a while.” 

“And it’s beneficial for you?” Eskel asked. 

“He’s good for business. I’m sure you’ve heard the song before—it works. And a friendly face is enough to dispel conflicts more often than I’d thought. It can be convenient to have him around.” 

“Convenient?” 

Geralt sighed. Neither of them were working anymore at this point, too enthralled in Eskel’s interrogation. 

“So you’ve been keeping him alive for all these weeks because he’s convenient?” 

Geralt was starting to get annoyed. “I thought our whole job was to save people. Why are you questioning that now?” 

“You’d do this for anyone then? The emotional trauma and all?” 

He wanted to talk about emotional trauma? If he’d known this was what cleaning out the stables with Eskel would entail, he would have stayed in bed with Jaskier. 

“Whatever you want to ask, just ask it,” Geralt said. He was sure there was something his brother was trying to get at, and he was tired waiting around for it. 

“I just don’t get it,” Eskel answered. 

“What don’t you get?” 

“You and him. I’ve never seen you like this with anyone else, not Yen, not Triss, nobody.”   
Why he thought bringing Yennefer and Triss into this would help his argument, Geralt didn’t know. He wasn’t happy about it though. 

“Jaskier is my friend, Eskel. I care about him deeply as my friend, and since I was the one to get him sick in the first place, it was my responsibility to get him better. Why does it have to be anything other than that?” 

“Well, it doesn’t, but,” Eskel stammered. “There’s just something about the way the two of you are. They way you look at each other. The way you talk about each other when the other isn’t around. I don’t understand it.” 

Maybe Geralt did have to be down here to help with the stables, but he certainly didn’t have to put up with this. 

“Look,” he said, glaring at Eskel. “I came down here to clean the stables. Help me if you want, but I’m not going to stand around indulging your weird fantasies about Jaskier and I’s friendship. Because that’s what it is—a friendship. You don’t have to help, but I’m done talking.” 

Eskel looked like he had more to say, but he held his tongue. 

“Fine,” he said, going back to shoveling hay. 

Still, somehow Geralt felt this conversation was far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boy will deny his feelings for Jaskier or DIE TRYING lmao


	31. Chapter 31

Geralt and Eskel finished cleaning out the stables in icy silence. Every so often Eskel would make eye contact with Geralt, looking like he wanted to say something. Geralt shut him down with a glare each time. 

When they finished Geralt said goodbye to Roach, promising to visit her more often, and headed toward the door. 

“Geralt wait,” Eskel called out. 

Geralt didn’t turn around. Whatever his brother had to say, Geralt didn’t want to hear it. He left the stables, walking back inside, leaving Eskel behind. 

Once back inside, he took his time bathing, washing off the smell of the stables. He debated whether or not he would go back to Jaskier’s room. There were surely plenty of other things he’d been neglecting, and although he hated to admit it, Eskel’s words were weighing heavy on his mind. 

What had he been trying to get at? Of course Jaskier meant a lot to him, but comparing him to Triss or Yennefer was out of line. He couldn’t compare them; they were two completely different things. The way he felt about Jaskier… Well, how did he feel about Jaskier? No matter how he felt, he’’d been perfectly content with how things had been before. Why did Eskel have to start asking questions? 

As much as he could have spent hours mulling over what Eskel and said, and what the implications were, he had to admit it would be a lot easier to just ignore it all. And after all, he did want to see Jaskier—for completely normal reasons of course. 

He walked down to the sick room, glad to find Vesemir was still there instead of Eskel. He was holding on to Jaskier’s arm as they walked around the room. There was an expression of intense focus on Jaskier’s face, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. He was doing well though. Seeing his progress put a smile on Geralt’s face. Geralt walked over and sat down in the chair, offering up words of encouragement as Jaskier determinately put one foot in front of the other. 

“Alright,” Vesemir said once he and Jaskier had finished with his exercises for the day. “I'll leave you two alone then. I’ll bring up some dinner in a little bit.” 

‘I’ll leave you two alone then.’ What did he mean by that? He didn’t have a chance to ask though, as Vesemir slipped out the door without elaborating. 

Now back in the bed, Jaskier looked tired, but in good spirits. 

“So how was your afternoon?” Jaskier asked, still a bit out of breath. 

“Hmm.” He wasn’t sure if he could put into words how he felt about his afternoons. Oh, if only he had Eskel to come ask a bunch of unwarranted, probing, highly personal questions, maybe he’d be able to figure it out. 

Thankfully his years of being grumpy and aloof had prepared Jaskier for just these sorts of responses. He was completely unfazed. 

“Well my afternoon was exhausting. Vesemir is a lot meaner than you are.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Geralt replied, suddenly defensive. 

“He just works me harder than you do. I guess it’s all the years of training Witchers. He’s perfected the art of making people work as hard as they possibly can.” 

Oh, that was all? Of course that was all. Not everything had to have secret double meanings. Things could just be things. 

Jaskier used his good hand to wipe the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. 

“Hey I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Jaskier began, “I know it's’ a kind of weird request, but I was wondering if you could cut my hair. It’s starting to get long enough to be in my eyes. I can’t stand it.” 

He was right. This was the longest Geralt had ever seen Jaskier’s hair. Still, haircutting was not one of the skills in Geralt’s repertoire. 

“Jaskier, I don’t know.” 

“I know, I know, it doesn’t have to look good, just please, it’s driving me insane.” 

Geralt thought about the physical act of cutting Jaskier’s hair, how close they would be. It seemed overly intimate. 

“I think Eskel might do better with that one,” he said, trying to push the task onto his brother. “I mean, he’s the best at stitches.” It was a weak argument, but Geralt knew that he couldn’t cut Jaskier’s hair. 

“Please. I don’t care about how it looks. I just want it out of my face,” Jaskier pleaded. “I’d do it myself if it weren’t for this,” he said, lifting his still heavily bandaged broken arm. “Please Geralt, for me?” 

For some reason this bothered Geralt. Why did he assume Geralt would give him special treatment? And it wasn’t just this—his comment about Vesemir earlier, the way Vesemir had called him “your boy” this morning, and of course everything Eskel had thrown at him. It was like everyone was in on some big joke that he didn’t understand. He didn’t appreciate it, and frankly, it was making him angry. 

“I’m not going to cut your hair,” he snapped. 

His seemingly sudden grumpiness caught Jaskier off guard. The bard’s expression quickly went from carefree, to defensive. 

“Fine. You don’t have to.” He looked hurt, but Geralt wasn’t ready to let go of his anger. He wasn’t just going to melt for Jaskier like everyone expected him to. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jaskier asked, clearly able to tell that something more than haircutting was bothering the Witcher. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he grumbled. “Look. I just need a minute okay? I’ll go get Vesemir or something.” 

Jaskier looked upset, but he didn’t try to stop Geralt as he turned around to leave. 

He almost ran into Vesemir as he shut the door behind him. The oldest Witcher held a tray containing Jaskier’s dinner. 

“Wolf, is something wrong?” he asked. 

“No, everything’s fine,” he growled in a completely contradictory tone. 

He left Vesemir behind, undoubtedly confused, hoping that he’d take the hint and understand somebody else would have to stay with Jaskier for the evening. 

He needed some time by himself to think and try to figure out all of these damned emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a n g s t
> 
> Also, I just started fall term at my university this week, so I'm not sure what my upload schedule is going to look like from now on. Please stick with me though; there's definitely still more to come.


	32. Chapter 32

As far as his recovery process was concerned, Jaskier definitely had good days and bad days. On the good days, he spent a lot of his time doing exercises to build up his muscles and strengthen his lungs, sometimes even leaving his room for a change of scenery. On the bad days he did a lot of laying in bed doing his best not to let himself get mopey and sad. 

Today was a bad day. It was nothing to be concerned about, but he did feel nauseous and achy, and the cough he still hadn’t quite been able to shake seemed just a little bit more insistent. So instead of working up a sweat retraining his muscles, he was relaxing in bed with a warm drink, chatting with Eskel. 

He hadn’t seen Geralt since he’d stormed out the evening before, but Vesemir and Eskel took good care of him in his absence. He missed his Witcher, but the others were good company too. Jaskier was especially enjoying getting to know Eskel better. He provided an interesting perspective on the Witcher lifestyle, and more than that, he was good to talk to. And now especially, Jaskier needed someone to talk to. 

“So you were with Geralt yesterday afternoon right?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing much, he just seemed a little off when he came back.” 

Eskel broke eye contact, looking sheepish and preoccupying himself with taking a long drink. Jaskier didn’t look away though, determined to get some answers. 

“I mean, who knows what will set Geralt off, but he definitely seemed upset about something.” 

“I may have had something to do with that,” Eskel replied hesitantly. 

“Oh?”

“I asked him a few questions, purely out of curiosity,” Eskel explained, sounding a bit like a child trying to talk their way out of a scolding. “They seemed to bother him though. I promise I didn’t make him angry on purpose.” 

“What did you ask him?” Jaskier was genuinely confused. What sort of questions would bother Geralt so much to keep him angry for hours afterwards?

“I just wanted to know more about your friendship.”

That was all? 

“You could have asked me,” Jaskier offered up. “I promise I won’t snap at you.” 

“I guess I don’t get it,” Eskel said. “You're so nice, and certainly successful on your own, so what do you get from following around a sullen old Witcher?” Eskel asked. “ I mean other than a broken arm and pneumonia.” 

Jaskier laughed, which quickly turned into a cough. 

“I’m sorry what was the question?” he asked once he caught his breath. 

“Why do you like traveling with Geralt? What do you get from it?” 

“Simple,” Jaskier replied. “I love Geralt.” 

Eskel looked surprised at Jaskier’s blunt openness. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I’ve been fascinated by Geralt since I was a teenager. I feel so lucky to be able to spend time with him and get to know him. He’s incredible.” Jaskier couldn’t imagine this was the answer Eskel expected, or that he was too happy to hear the bard sing his grumpy brother’s praises. It was the truth though, and Jaskier had no reason to hide it.

“So…” Eskel still seemed confused. 

“I love him,” Jaskier repeated. “I love spending time with him.” He took a drink, waiting to see if Eskel was going to respond. After a few seconds of awkward silence from Eskel, Jaskier continued. “What did he say?” 

“Umm, he said a few things,” Eskel replied. “He thought you traveled with him because you enjoyed the company.” 

“That’s all? I mean he’s right I guess. Did he say why he likes to travel with me?” 

“He said you were good for business, and it was convenient to have a friendly face around.” 

Jaskier chuckled. “Convenient. I’m flattered.” 

He didn’t expect much from this line of questioning—he knew Geralt wouldn’t have given his brother any useful information—but it was fun to watch Eskel squirm. 

“So, you love him? Like, how? Like a brother?” 

Jaskier found Eskel’s confusion hilarious, and he could tell there were more questions he wanted to ask. 

“I don’t know exactly. I just love him.” 

***

Geralt spent the next day avoiding everyone else at Kaer Morhen. He had been right about having a lot of things to do which he’d been neglecting, so it wasn’t too hard to keep himself busy. He finally sorted through all the stuff he’d brought with him, and he checked all of his weapons and armor and did all the necessary repairs. 

Nobody came and looked for him or bothered him. He thought about going down and training with Lambert, who was probably removed enough from the situation enough to not know what was going on, and was always down to spar, but he figured that would raise the likelihood of running into Eskel. He wasn’t sure if he could be civil if he saw Eskel now. 

He wondered absentmindedly what Jaskier was up to. How was he feeling? Who was staying with him today? Did he miss him? He certainly missed Jaskier, but ever since Eskel had tried to get Geralt to define their relationship, spending time with Jaskier meant addressing questions which he didn’t know the answer to, and was hesitant to delve deeper into. He missed when things had been simple. More than anything though, he missed his bard. How long could he stay away? He remembered when every moment with him had felt like a gift, back when every moment felt like it could be Jaskier’s last. Now though, every moment felt like a chore. He hated it. 

Why couldn’t he just sit, and talk, and figure all of this out? Why was he so afraid to face whatever the answers were? Why couldn’t he just let himself be happy with Jaskier? And most importantly, how long was he going to let this go on? Because for all of the questions he didn’t know the answer to, he did know one thing. He knew he loved spending time with Jaskier. And couldn’t that be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing fanfic instead of doing homework? Couldn't be me.


	33. Chapter 33

As he got stronger, Jaskier spent more and more time in the different rooms around Kaer Morhen. He was glad. The sickroom was dreadfully dull, and he was happy to see more of the Witchers’ home. He remembered back on the trail when Geralt had spent hours telling him stories about growing up and living at Kaer Morhen. It was interesting to finally see some of the places the Witcher had told him about. He only wished Geralt was here to show him around himself. 

It had been two full days since he’d seen his Witcher, and he was doing his best not to let himself worry. 

Today he was down in the kitchens with Eskel as he prepared dinner. Jaskier would have helped if he’d had two good hands, but as it was, he was mostly just doing a lot of trying to snatch bites of food while Eskel had his back turned. He knew it was difficult to sneak anything past a Witcher, but he also knew Eskel was good tempered, and he wouldn’t be mad. 

“Hey, save some for the rest of us,” Eskel said, swatting Jaskier’s hand after a failed attempt to steal some butter for the piece of bread he’d swiped a few minutes earlier. “I swear, it’s like cooking with Lambert.” 

Jaskier laughed. He didn’t know Lambert as well as the rest of the inhabitants of Kaer Morhen, but the youngest Witcher’s reputation had made itself known well enough for Jaskier to know he was being insulted. “That’s a low blow Eskel,” he joked. “I would expect this kind of honesty from Geralt, but from you? I expect better from you.” 

Eskel chuckled, sliding the butter over to Jaskier. 

“You know,” Jaskier said through a mouthful of bread and butter. “I’ve been working tirelessly. I deserve this. What have you been doing?” 

“I’ve been working tirelessly taking care of you,” Eskel retorted. 

It was a fair enough statement, but under the humor Jaskier couldn’t help but think of the implications. One of the reasons Eskel had been working so tirelessly was because of Geralt’s recent absence. 

Still, Jaskier didn’t let himself worry. He had hope he would see Geralt tonight at dinner. 

Soon enough though, the food was done and Vesemir and Lambert made their way down to eat, and before Jaskier knew it, the meal was over and Geralt was still nowhere to be found. 

He did his best to hide his disappointment, but he didn’t seem to be doing a very good job. Once they were back in the sickroom, Eskel spoke up. 

“Something wrong Jaskier?” 

He debated for a moment whether or not to tell the truth, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to let Eskel know how he was feeling. 

“I was just hoping I’d see Geralt tonight, that’s all,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Eskel nodded solemnly. “He’s pretty stubborn. When he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll go to unreasonable lengths to avoid it,” he explained. “Oh I didn’t mean,” he stammered as he realized what the implications were for what he’d just said. 

“No it’s fine,” Jaskier said, trying his best to hide his emotions. Whether intentionally or not, Eskel had made it pretty clear. Geralt didn’t want to see Jaskier, and apparently he was ready to go to unreasonable lengths to avoid him.  
“Just, if you see him, can you try and send him up here? Tell him I want to talk.” 

***

Jaskier fully expected his request to Eskel to go unfulfilled, so he was pleasantly surprised when a knock came at his door a little while later. 

“Come in.” 

It was Geralt, looking awkward and sheepish. 

“Eskel said you wanted to see me?” 

Jaskier hated how forced things already seemed to be between them. His conversation with Eskel must have really done a number on him. He was never like this around Jaskier. 

“Yeah, I just wanted to talk. I think we both know something’s up. I thought it best to just get everything out on the table.” 

Geralt came and sat down in the chair next to the bed. 

“That’s fair.” He looked to Jaskier, undoubtedly waiting for him to lead the conversation. 

“Eskel told me about the conversation you two had in the stables. That’s what’s upsetting you, right?” 

“I’m not upset.” 

“Geralt, this will all be a lot easier if we don’t lie. Please. I just want to figure this out.” 

“Fine. Yes. I didn’t like Eskel trying to poke around in my business.” 

“And what business is that exactly?” Jaskier asked. 

“The business of us traveling together.” 

“And so what did you tell him about the two of us traveling together?” 

Jaskier wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like he expected Geralt to admit he loved Jaskier like Jaskier loved him. So why was he so afraid to hear the Witcher’s answer?

Geralt didn’t respond. 

“He told me you said it was convenient,” Jaskier said hesitantly, trying to hide the fact that he hoped he meant more to Geralt than that. 

Geralt seemed to latch onto this answer though. 

“Yes. And I was telling the truth.” 

“So that’s it then? I’m convenient?” 

“Jaskier. I don’t want to do this,” Geralt said, clearly becoming irritable. 

“Don’t want to do what?” Jaskier replied, getting defensive. 

“I don’t want to sit here and pour my heart out to you, or whatever you expect,” he said in a clearly sarcastic tone. 

“That would be such a bad thing?” Jaskier argued. 

“Yes,” Geralt replied, raising his voice. “Because I’m never going to tell you what you want to hear okay! I took care of you. Isn’t that enough?” 

“Yes Geralt.” He was fighting back tears now, and felt horribly embarrassed about it. Geralt clearly wasn’t wasting any emotional energy on him, so why should he waste his crying over someone who didn’t care for him enough to be honest. “You’ve done more than enough.” 

Geralt looked like he wanted to snap back at him, but he didn’t. 

“Good,” Geralt said. “So are we finished here?” 

Jaskier took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice even. “Yeah,” he replied. “I think we’re more than finished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic with the intention of having absolutely no romantic element, but there's just something about these two. Couldn't keep myself away. Will this prove to be a good decision? Only time will tell.


	34. Chapter 34

As soon as Geralt was out the door, Jaskier broke down. Hot tears rolled down his face as he struggled not to lose his breath to the sobs which held his throat like a vice. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, trying to keep himself together. He ignored the ache in his ribs the crying brought on. It was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was so upset. Of course getting snapped at by Geralt stung, but it was something he’d grown used to over the years. Geralt was sort of grumpy by nature. He’d endured much worse at the hands of his Witcher’s mood swings, so why did it hurt so badly now? Geralt had just been so sweet lately. Jaskier scolded himself for allowing himself to get comfortable. Of course Geralt had been extra nice to him lately, he’d been dying. That didn’t mean their relationship had changed. Geralt had coddled him because he was weak, but as he grew stronger, things would go back to normal—whatever normal was. Being nice to a sick person didn’t equal love. Jaskier should have known that. 

A few minutes into his crying session a knock came at the door. 

“Come in,” Jaskier called out, trying his best to keep his emotions out of his voice. He wiped the tears from his face as Eskel entered looking ready for bed. 

Now that Jaskier didn’t require constant monitoring, they’d moved a second bed into the sick room so whoever was staying with him for the night could sleep too. Most of the time both he and whoever stayed in the second bed slept through the whole night. But although it was never again as bad as the night after he’d taken his first steps, he still spent enough of his nights awake coughing, or throwing up, or just generally miserable that Vesemir thought it best he wasn’t alone. Tonight Eskel would be staying with him. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, wiping the tears from his face and trying to steady his breath. It was no use though, the crying continued. 

“Do you want me to go?” Eskel asked, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what to do. 

Jaskier nodded. “If I could just have a minute.” He managed to get the words out before another round of sobs came. 

Eskel left, shutting the door behind him. 

Once Eskel was gone he buried his face into his pillow to muffle the sound as he let the pain of his conversation with Geralt wash over him. “I’m never going to tell you what you want to hear.” The words echoed in Jaskier’s mind along with what he knew they meant. “I’m never going to love you as much as you love me.” 

***

Eskel waited probably close to an hour before he returned. The crying had subsided by now, and Jaskier was just laying in bed feeling sorry for himself. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. 

Jaskier wanted to snap at him. After all, he was the one who’d brought all this up to the surface in the first place. He and Geralt had been perfectly happy before their conversation in the stables. But no, it would have come up eventually. This wasn’t Eskel’s fault. 

“I just thought he really cared. You know?” Jaskier sat up, situating himself against the headboard and facing Eskel. Even now he kicked himself for being so whiny about something which he shouldn’t have let bother him in the first place. He sounded like a lovesick adolescent. 

“He does care about you,” Eskel replied, sounding surprised as if Jaskier was trying to dispute something which was common knowledge. “He cares about you more than anyone, I think. You should have seen him when things were really bad. When it looked like…” he hesitated. “Well, when it looked like you were going to die,” he continued. “I’ve never seen him more broken. Yelling, crying, breaking things, all of it. I know you weren’t able to see that part, but I promise, I’ve never seen him so emotionally invested in anybody. That’s why I asked him about you two. He’s not like that with anyone else.” 

This gave Jaskier hope, but it didn’t change what Geralt had said to him tonight. 

“Then why can’t he just admit it?” Jaskier asked. 

Eskel sighed. “It’s not that easy with him. He has a hard time letting himself be vulnerable. It’s against his nature to admit his own weaknesses, and I think he sees his emotions as a weakness.” 

“So what then, he’d rather go around hurting people than admit he cares about them?” 

“This is all new to him I think. Even with Yennefer, they never depended on each other like the two of you do, especially now watching you nearly die.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Geralt doesn’t depend on me,” he said. “I depend on him, and that’s the problem. I’ve set myself up to be hurt by him.” 

Eskel shook his head. “He depends on you more than you know Jaskier. You’ve changed him, and I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but it’s been for the better. You bring out the humanity in him in ways I didn’t think were possible. He’s always been a good person, but since meeting you he’s started to figure out how to show it. He still has some learning to do though. Give him time.” 

“So I just have to wait until he decides not to avoid me anymore? You said so yourself, he’s stubborn. We’re supposed to just tiptoe around each other until the winter is over?” 

“I can talk to him if you want—although I’m not sure how much that’ll help at this point—but he knows he messed up. He’ll come around sooner than you think.” 

Jaskier took a deep breath, taking in Eskel’s words. As Geralt’s brother, he probably knew better than most, but Jaskier still worried he was wrong. And he missed Geralt. He just wanted things to go back to how they’d been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream (prophesy?) the other day during a nap, that I wrote a Witcher x Simpsons crossover fic.


	35. Chapter 35

Geralt had forgotten how much he enjoyed sparring with his brothers. It’d been nearly a year since the last time he’d done it, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until now. The day was cold, but clear as he trained with Lambert. He did his best to put all of the business with Eskel and Jaskier out of his mind as they sparred, focusing only on the placement of his feet and the timing of his blows. He was more out of shape than he’d thought, and he was determined not to let Lambert best him. He’d never hear the end of it if he lost.

Even as they fought though, he couldn’t keep Jaskier from his mind—the guilt, the confusion, the missing him—it threatened to sabotage his concentration. No. He could do this. He could focus. These last thoughts raced through his mind as he delivered the final blow, knocking his brother’s sword to the ground. As if on cue, Eskel appeared, seemingly looking for Geralt. This was the last person Geralt wanted to talk to right now.

“Again,” Geralt commanded, beginning as soon as Lambert had his sword back in his hands. He continued with renewed fervor, determined to ignore Eskel and focus only on the sparring. He dragged this fight out for as long as he could, waiting until Eskel gave up and went back inside to finally end it.

“So you’re avoiding Eskel too?” Lambert asked, out of breath, as soon as the fight ended. 

“What? Why are you avoiding Eskel?” Geralt asked, confused. 

“He’s angry at me for something I may or may not have done,” Lambert explained. “Why are you avoiding Eskel?” 

“He kept pestering me about Jaskier and I, and he made everything awkward,” Geralt explained, trying to keep it as brief as possible to avoid any further questioning. Of course this was Lambert, so that didn’t work in the slightest. 

“What did he want to know?” Lambert asked. 

“Why Jaskier and I travel together.” 

“And what did you tell him?” 

“I told him Jaskier and I were friends.” 

“And then he kept bothering you about it?” 

“Well, no,” Geralt replied honestly. Eskel had backed off after Geralt insisted he and Jaskier were just friends. But that didn’t matter, by then things were already weird.

“So he asked you a question, you answered, and now you’re mad at him?” Lambert tried to follow Geralt’s logic. 

“It’s more than that,” Geralt replied, getting defensive. “He made things awkward.” 

“Did he make things awkward, or did you make things awkward?” 

And there it was. The ugly truth. Geralt didn’t want to answer. 

Lambert took his silence as answer enough. “You should go talk to him,” he said. “As much as I love sparring with you, Eskel is easier to beat, but he doesn’t come down anymore because he’s too busy taking care of your friend.” 

Geralt sighed. Lambert had a point, but confronting his problems head on wasn’t his style. Needless to say, it looked like he’d have to this time, no matter how unpleasant it would certainly be. 

***

Eskel found Geralt before Geralt had the chance to find him. He was inside making sure his swords were in order before putting them away. As soon as Eskel entered, his resolve faltered. Surely this conversation could happen later. Eskel seemed to be able to track Geralt’s thought process. He spoke up. 

“If you leave, I’m just going to follow.” 

“I can outrun you,” Geralt grumbled. He didn’t run though. Eskel was right; this conversation was going to happen eventually. 

“So when I went to go to bed in the sickroom last night—for the second night in a row I might add—I found Jaskier crying. That didn’t have anything to do with your conversation did it?” 

Jaskier had been crying? That sent a stab of pain through Geralt’s chest, but he didn’t let it show. 

“I’m sure he told you already Eskel. I’ll speak with you, but spare me the theatrics.” 

“He told me you wouldn’t admit that you cared about him,” Eskel continued. 

“I never had to before you came and messed everything up,” Geralt argued. 

“I didn’t realize one question was enough to ruin you two.” 

“It’s not that. It’s the insistence on putting a label on it all. Once it has a name then there are rules and roles to fill. It was all so much simpler before,” his honesty surprised even him, but he didn’t take any of it back.

“Look, I admit I made a mistake. I crossed a line and I’m sorry, but this whole situation still needs to be fixed and I’m not the one who can fix it.” 

“So what do I do then?” Geralt sighed. 

“Go apologize,” Eskel insisted, as if this was obvious. “Whatever you said to him last night really upset him. You need to go explain yourself, or take it back, or something. Just don’t go on letting him think you don’t care about him because I know that isn’t true and it’s hurting him.” 

“He was really crying when you talked to him last night?” Geralt asked, finally opening up enough to show he felt guilty. 

“Sobbing. He didn’t tell me exactly what you said, but it was pretty clear you wouldn’t admit you cared about him.” 

“I was just so afraid whatever I told him would come out wrong and hurt his feelings.” 

“Well, what you didn’t say did just as much damage.” 

“Now are you ready to go and admit your mistakes, or am I going to have to keep pestering you for another three days.” 

“I’ll go talk to him. Do you know where he is?” 

Eskel looked relieved to see Geralt was finally ready to let go of the stubborn, unfeeling act. 

“He’s upstairs with Vesemir. He seemed to be in good enough spirits when I left this morning, so if he’s crying again the next time I see him, you’re going to have hell to pay.” 

“No,” Geralt said. “I’m ready to fix things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I think we're getting close to the end now. It's lowkey making me emo.   
> Okay but also, I thought I had like three chapters to go back at like chapter eleven, so take what I say with a grain of salt. But still!:(


	36. Chapter 36

Geralt headed upstairs as soon as he finished putting away his swords and changing out of his sweaty clothes. As he approached the door to the sickroom he was filled with a strange mixture of dread and relief. He feared he would again be unable to articulate his feelings well enough to fix things, but at the same time he was relieved to not be avoiding the problem anymore. As much as he wanted to convince himself he could just go on being stubborn and sullen, he missed Jaskier and he hated the way he’d left things before. 

He entered Jaskier’s room to find him and Vesemir sitting at the table, sipping something from steaming mugs and chatting. Both sets of eyes fell on Geralt as he walked in. 

“Is this a bad time?” he asked, awkwardly standing in the doorway. 

Vesemir looked to Jaskier for an answer. 

“No,” Jaskier said hesitantly. “Now is fine.” 

Geralt hated how uneasy Jaskier seemed. Geralt was supposed to be the person who fixed Jaskier’s problems, not the one who created them. 

“Alright,” Vesemir said, cutting into the strained silence. “I’ll see you for dinner then Jaskier. As always it was lovely chatting with you.” 

Vesemir gave Geralt a warning glare as he walked past towards the doorway, as if to say, “you had better not make this any worse than you already have.” Geralt didn’t say anything to him, instead breaking eye contact and walking over to take his seat at the table. 

“Your hair looks nice,” Geralt said, trying and failing to get rid of the uncomfortable dynamic he’d created between the two of them. 

“Thanks,” Jaskier said, running his good hand absentmindedly through his newly short hair. Had it been like that the last time they’d talked? Geralt couldn’t remember. “Vesemir did it,” Jaskier continued. “It’s really nice to have it out of the way.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” Geralt replied. 

Jaskier sighed. “Can we get past the formalities, Geralt? What are you here for?” 

Geralt was used to being the sulky one in the conversation. He wasn’t accustomed to having the tables turned on him. He didn’t like it, and it made him feel guilty, not only for the way he’d treated Jaskier in the past few days, but also for the countless other instances of irritability he’d subjected Jaskier to in the many years of their friendship. 

“I’m here to apologize.” 

***

Of course Jaskier loved spending time with Geralt the most—or he had before his Witcher had decided to go back to the grumpy, unyielding person Jaskier had met at eighteen—and he had grown very fond of Eskel these past few weeks, but Jaskier absolutely adored spending time with Vesemir. The eldest Witcher had accumulated so much knowledge and wisdom during his many, eventful years. He also had all the best information about all three of the younger Witchers. Ever since Jaskier had come to Kaer Morhen and finished with all of the dying business, his main form of entertainment was catching up on all of the Witcher drama in their interpersonal relationships. And Vesemir delivered. Today of course, they were talking about Geralt. 

Now that Geralt had decided to disregard Jaskier’s feelings, Jaskier was ready to disregard his privacy and talk about these recent events to anyone who would listen. Lucky for Geralt, this was only Vesemir and Eskel, and lucky for Jaskier, these two seemed to have a lot of insight into Geralt’s psyche and were able to provide some interesting commentary on these otherwise wholly upsetting turns of events. 

Today, after finishing Jaskier’s exercises for the day, he and Vesemir sat down at the table and began to chat. Inevitably, Geralt’s continued absence came up rather quickly, and Jaskier was eager to get the eldest Witcher’s take on it. 

“So how long do you think he’s going to keep avoiding me?” Jaskier asked. 

“Hmm,” Vesemir seemed to ponder this. “That depends. Eskel might be able to talk him out of it, but he also might make it worse. It’s hard to know with Geralt what will set him off; he can be finicky. But I can tell you he’s more upset about this than he seems,” Vesemir assured him. 

“Have you spoken with him?” 

“Briefly.” 

“And did he say anything about it?” 

“No, but it isn’t hard to tell with him. Once you know what you’re looking at, it’s pretty easy to see that Geralt wears his heart on his sleeve. It was clear the whole situation wasn’t going how he wanted and he was upset by it. I’m sure he wants to fix things, but I don't think he knows how and that unsettles him. Geralt likes to know exactly what he’s walking into, and when it comes to emotional turmoil he’s often unsure of what he needs to do. That’s when he starts to get defensive, which if I’m understanding correctly is what happened the other night.” 

The way Vesemir told it, Geralt was an open book, but Jaskier had known him for years, and he still found himself taken off guard by his Witcher’s mood swings.

“But what about you?” Vesemir asked, turning the question around. “Do you want him to come back?” 

“Of course I do,” Jaskier answered right away. “I mean, I’m angry at him, of course, but I still miss him. I just want things to go back to the way they were between us before.” 

“And what was that?” 

“Simple.” 

At this, as if on cue, the door opened to reveal a sheepish Geralt. 

“Is this a bad time?” 

Jaskier had been having a wonderful, illuminating, time chatting with Vesemir and he was very much not in the mood to be yelled at or to have his feelings belittled. However, he did know that the only way to get over this was to go through it, and if Vesemir was right, Geralt wanted to fix things, and Jaskier was more than ready to have things fixed. 

After a few forced exchanges Jaskier got to the point he knew they both were trying to reach. 

“Can we get past the formalities, Geralt? What are you here for?” 

And then Geralt said the words Jaskier had been waiting for ever since this whole mess had begun. It was like a weight was being lifted off his shoulder. 

“I’m here to apologize.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CEO of stalling and dragging this story out until all of y'all inevitably get bored and leave bc I'm not emotionally ready for this to be over yet.


	37. Chapter 37

Jaskier sat across from him looking terrifyingly expectant. Geralt hadn’t prepared anything, but looking at Jaskier waiting for him to deliver his apology, he wished he had given this a little more thought. Too late now though, it would have to come straight from the heart. Jaskier would prefer it that way anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt began. 

Jaskier continued to watch, justifiably waiting for more. 

Geralt took a deep breath, deciding to just dive in headfirst and hope he didn’t make the situation worse. 

“When Eskel approached me about our friendship, I got scared,” he continued. “Looking back, I can see that nothing he asked was offensive, or prying, but I was so worried he would expect something from me, or force me to put a label on whatever it is we have, that I got upset and defensive.” 

“Okay,” Jaskier said, prompting him to continue. 

“I was afraid because what we have is so good, and it felt so fragile, like if I said the wrong thing it would break somehow.” He kept going, letting the words fall over each other as he rambled, hoping Jaskier could tell just how sorry he felt. Eskel’s words echoed in his mind as he continued. “But now I realize that what I didn’t say, or what I refused to say, was just as damaging.” 

“So when you said I was convenient?” Jaskier asked.

“I didn’t mean it,” Geralt said, rushing to take back his previous statement. “I mean, you are, but I don’t care. Even if you weren’t, I’d still want to travel with you. You are so much more than convenient. You’re kind, and caring, and you keep me grounded, and make sure I know what I’m worth. You’re there for me even when I push you away, because you can see that I need you even when I don’t want to admit it.” 

Jaskier just stared, not expectant anymore, but encapsulated. 

“And if there’s anything this winter has taught me, it’s that I can’t lose you. I need you. I’m afraid of who I would become without you. I’ve never met anyone outside of the other Witchers who could see past the walls I put up, but you have ever since I met you. And it’s like you look at me, and you see who I could be. And when I look back at you, I want to be that person.” By now, he wasn’t even thinking, just letting the words come straight from the heart, hoping they made sense. 

“You’re everything I wish I could be. I wish I could express myself like you can. I wish I could be as unashamed of my feelings as you are. More than anything I wish I could have been brave enough to tell you this the first time you asked, because I hate the thought of hurting you.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” Jaskier asked in a soft, almost tentative voice. 

“I was scared,” Geralt replied, “because I don’t know how to describe how I feel about you, and I worried if I tried to, people would get it wrong, and they would expect us to be something we’re not.” 

“But then what are we?” Jaskier asked. 

The same fear crept into Geralt’s mind, that if he tried to pin this down it would escape him somehow, but if he couldn’t be honest with Jaskier now, he never would be. 

“The way I feel about you is something I can’t put a word to, because in all of my years traveling across the continent, I’ve never felt or heard someone describe a feeling that fits the way I feel about you.” Even now, he had trouble getting his point across without giving the wrong idea. 

“You aren’t a brother, or a lover, or a mentor, or friend,” he continued, again afraid of making things worse, but still determined to be honest. “You’re Jaskier, and you’re so much more than I could ever say, and so much more than I deserve, and everything I could want. Isn’t that enough?” 

Jaskier gave him a sad smile, waiting a moment before giving his reply. 

“It’s plenty.” 

***

After Jaskier’s response, Geralt stood up from his chair and walked over to the other side of the table. Jaskier stood to meet him. 

Geralt wrapped his arms around the bard and Jaskier took his embrace gratefully, resting his head on the Witcher’s shoulder. 

“I missed you. I’m so sorry,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier didn’t lift his head. 

Geralt’s apology had been beautiful, and eloquent, and so much more than it had to be. So then why did Jaskier still feel sad? Geralt had made it clear that Jaskier meant a lot to him, and their relationship was special and meaningful. It would be selfish to ask for more. 

Still, the thought lingered in the back of his mind, making his heart ache. No matter how special he was, Geralt still didn’t feel about Jaskier the way Jaskier felt about him. But it wasn’t like Jaskier could expect that from him, it probably wasn’t even an option for Geralt, so it was unfair to want those sorts of feelings from him. 

He needed to accept what he’d been given and appreciate it. Geralt cared about him, he knew that for sure now, and he was in no danger of losing him. 

His words echoed in Jaskier’s mind. 

“You aren’t a brother, or a lover, or a mentor, or friend. You’re Jaskier.” 

He appreciated what he was to Geralt, but why couldn’t he be more? 

He blinked back the tears from his eyes as Geralt pulled back, not wanting the Witcher to think his apology had been inadequate. It had been exactly what it needed to be. He needed to accept that. 

Geralt’s feelings towards Jaskier were perfect, even if they weren’t the same as Jaskier’s feelings towards him. 

Even if he wasn’t in love with Jaskier, like Jaskier was in love with him. 

That was just something Jaskier would have to accept. He would take what he was given because it was so much more than he deserved, and he would learn to deal with these feelings because just like Geralt, he was terrified of losing what the two of them had. No matter what the label was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Geralt said more in this one chapter than he did in the entirety of season one lmao. 
> 
> Also, I'm having some trouble balancing my mental health, and school, and work rn. I'm still going to be updating on a regular basis, just maybe not quite so often if that makes sense. And thank you so much for all the kind comments on the last chapter. I'm sad to see this end too, but don't worry, we've still got a little bit left to go<3


	38. Chapter 38

Even after his apology Geralt worried that somehow speaking about his connection with Jaskier would break it. He kept waiting for Jaskier to get upset, or for Vesemir or Eskel to tell him he was doing something wrong, but that never came. Things almost inexplicably went back to normal between them. There were still a few awkward moments every now and again, but instead of neglecting them, Geralt embraced them, talking about his feelings with Jaskier and watching their friendship grow stronger because of it. 

As the days and weeks passed, Jaskier’s body grew stronger as well. With Geralt and the other Witchers by his side, he slowly recovered from the illness which had nearly taken his life. It wasn’t easy to watch his friend struggle to try to do the things which had once been easy, but slowly and surely he began to turn back into the Jaskier Geralt had known before that terrible night when he’d broken his arm saving his Witcher’s life. 

Even that though, wasn’t a fair statement. Jaskier was regaining his old abilities, yes, but he was no longer quite the same man he’d been before. This experience had changed him emotionally as much as it had physically. While his body was still weaker than it had been, there was a new determination behind his eyes, and a mental fortitude which never ceased to amaze Geralt. This only reinforced the sentiment which he’d known all along—that Jaskier was a stronger man than Geralt had ever been. 

As difficult as it was to watch him struggle, it made the successes that much sweeter. Geralt remembered vividly the day they’d finally been able to take the cast off of Jaskier’s arm. He had prepared to comfort the bard as he realized his fingers would be much too clumsy and weak to play the lute. Geralt wasn’t met with sadness though, instead seeing that same fierce resolve as Jaskier asked the Witcher to show him what exercises he could do to strengthen his fingers and regain the fine motor control he’d lost. It made the sound of Jaskier’s lute that much more triumphant when Jaskier finally got to play again for the first time in months. 

The look of Jaskier’s glowing smile was priceless as he carefully plucked out the beginning of Toss A Coin. His voice still had an edge of raspiness from the persistent cough, but it was quickly drowned out by Lambert messily belting out the lyrics to the all too familiar song. Soon they were all singing while Jaskier fumbled his way through the iconic tune. Geralt laughed so hard tears ran down his cheeks. This was the happiest he had been in as long as he could remember. 

Their days were filled with moments like this. This persistent happiness wasn’t something Geralt was familiar with, but holed up here in Kaer Morhen with his brothers, his friend happy and getting healthier by the day it felt like sadness couldn’t touch him. 

Maybe that was why he ignored all the signs of the coming spring, telling himself the weather wasn’t warming, the snow wasn’t melting, they wouldn’t have to leave soon, this wasn’t ending. Soon enough though he would have to come to terms and make a plan for what he and Jaskier would do once the winter ended. Because as blissful as this was, it couldn’t last forever. 

***

After the apology, Jaskier did his best to push his feelings down. It would do him no good to sit around and mope about how his Witcher wasn’t in love with him. He’d had these feelings for years; he couldn’t let them get the best of him now. 

Instead of dwelling on this, he threw himself into his rehabilitation, working tirelessly until he could walk without help, get up the stairs without coughing up a lung, and take care of himself without the need for constant observation. 

When the day came that he could finally take off the cast, he dedicated himself to the task of relearning how to play the lute. It was frustrating, and at times it seemed impossible, but the day finally came when he could muster up the dexterity needed to play a clumsy rendition of Toss a Coin—a song he’d once been able to play with muscle memory, the movements coming to him as easily as breathing. Now though, it took thought, and his fingers ached, but it was worth it to see Geralt singing along with them as Jaskier and the other Witchers belted out the bard’s song. He watched as Geralt wiped the tears of laughter from his cheeks, a smile still on his face. 

“I could make you this happy all the time,” Jaskier thought reflexively. But no, that wasn’t true and it wasn’t fair. Right now he needed to focus on his own happiness, and that was something which needed to be able to exist outside the realm of his Witcher’s romantic attraction to him, or lack thereof. 

Slowly things went back to how they’d been before between them, back in their comfortable friendship. Jaskier kept reminding himself that this was enough, more than enough. He was so lucky to have what he did, and it was unfair to both of them to want more. He reminded himself often that desiring a romantic relationship with the Witcher would only hurt both of them, and day by day he began to believe it. With each day that passed it stung a little bit less. 

So when the time came to start thinking about what would happen once the winter ended and they were no longer confined to their little paradise of Kaer Morhen, he knew what would have to happen. He tried to convince himself he could keep going with Geralt, but he knew deep down he needed time alone to clear his head and figure all this out for himself. And even if he wanted to keep traveling with Geralt, he was still much too weak. It wasn’t a viable option for so many reasons; it was clear to Jaskier what needed to happen. They would have to part ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess you could say this is the end's beginning


	39. Chapter 39

As much as he tried to avoid it, the day soon came when Geralt could no longer push aside the thoughts about what would happen once the winter was truly over. He was afraid of having the conversation, worried it would go poorly, but he couldn’t keep avoiding it forever. So one morning while he sat in the library with Jaskier, he brought up the topic which they’d both been neglecting to discuss. 

“Eskel and Lambert are leaving at the end of the week,” he said. 

Jaskier nodded. “I know. I was talking about that with Eskel yesterday. He told me his plan for the spring.” 

So Jaskier knew. That meant he must have given the situation some thought as well. Before he could ask though, Jaskier beat him to the question on both of their minds. 

“Have you decided which way you’ll be heading once you leave?” he asked. 

“Well, I thought,” Geralt fumbled, not sure quite how to go about it. “I figured you still weren’t up for traveling. I thought we might just stay somewhere together for a little while, you know, until things can go back to normal.” 

Jaskier gave him a sad smile. Geralt kept going, trying to somehow push away the answer he knew was inevitable. 

“We could stay here a while longer,” he continued, “or we could go stay with Nenneke at Melitele’s Temple. She could take good care of you, and I could find contracts nearby,” he added hopefully. 

“I can see you’ve given this some thought,” Jaskier replied. “And I have too. I think we both know what has to happen.” 

“Jaskier, wait. Let’s just think—” 

Jaskier cut him off. 

“I’ve actually already decided where I’m going to go once we leave, Geralt.” 

This took Geralt by surprise. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t know how to bring it up.” 

Geralt wanted to be angry, but he knew he was really just sad. He pushed these emotions aside, not wanting to derail the conversation. He swallowed hard. 

“Where are you planning on going?” he asked, being careful not to let his tone come off as angry or judgmental. 

“My old university at Oxenfurt has been begging me to stay on full time as a professor for years now,” he said. “I figured I would finally take them up on it.” 

He hated to admit it, but this seemed like a viable enough plan. Part of him had hoped Jaskier would come up with something unreasonable so they could stay together a little while longer. He was just so afraid of something would happen to him. He’d almost lost him so many times this winter; letting him go felt wrong. 

Oxenfurt made sense though. Geralt knew Jaskier had been visiting Oxenfurt as a guest lecturer for years now, but it was hard to imagine him as a full time professor. Still, he didn’t doubt Jaskier would be wonderful at it. He was wonderful at so many things. 

“I don’t just want to wait around until I’m strong enough to travel, Geralt. I need to do something. You must understand that.” 

Geralt nodded. Rationally he knew Jaskier was right, and he knew his friend would be able to take care of himself, but instinctively he didn’t want to leave him. 

“Eskel said he was heading that way and he could take me if you wanted to head a different direction,” Jaskier added. 

“No,” Geralt cut in. “I can take you.” 

Jaskier smiled. “I hoped you’d say that.” 

“Are you sure you want to go right away?” Geralt said. “We don’t have to leave now just because Eskel and Lambert are.” 

Jaskier didn’t respond right away, seemingly looking for the right words. 

“You have a job to do Geralt,” he said after several long moments of silence. “I can’t be the one to keep you from that. People rely on Witchers. It would be selfish for me to have you all to myself.” 

Geralt sighed. 

“I don’t owe the people anything,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier chuckled. 

“I know you don’t. But you owe it to yourself to do something fulfilling. I hate to think of you sitting around wasting time waiting for me.” 

Time spent with Jaskier wasn’t wasted. He hated to think his friend thought of it that way. 

“I deserve to do something fulfilling too, Geralt,” he continued. “It’s not fair to either of us to stay together. I think you realize that.” 

It made sense, but that didn’t keep it from hurting. 

“There’s a good community at Oxenfurt,” Jaskier said. “I’ll be taken care of well enough.” 

He looked as if he were trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Geralt. Selfishly, he was glad this was hard for Jaskier too. 

“When would I see you then?” Geralt asked. 

“You could come see me whenever you’re around,” he smiled. “I won’t be going anywhere, but I don’t want you to hold yourself back because of me. I’d hate to think you weren’t out saving lives because you were busy sitting around with me.” 

His points were valid, but Geralt had to admit that sitting around with Jaskier for a little bit longer sounded pretty appealing. 

“You’re sure you’re up to it?” Geralt asked. He had faith in his friend, of course, but he remembered how poorly their last journey together had gone. “The trip through Kaedwen and Redania won’t be easy.” 

“I’m ready,” he assured the Witcher. “I’ll get a horse once we get into a town, and sell it again once we reach Oxenfurt,” he explained. “I’m ready to do something. I’ve loved our time together, but I’m getting restless, Geralt. You must be too.” 

He was right, staying cooped up for months at a time was against his nature, but he’d be willing to deal with it if it meant he knew Jaskier was being cared for.

He seemed to sense this. 

“I’ll be alright Geralt,” he assured the Witcher once again. “I don’t want to separate either, but I think we both know it’s time.”


	40. Chapter 40

Since Jaskier had been the one who insisted they’d separate, he felt obligated to seem happy with the proceedings, but as he headed downstairs for the last shared meal with all of the Witchers before Lambert and Eskel left to go their separate ways for spring. He and Geralt were leaving later in the week, but after tonight Kaer Morhen would be much emptier, and Jaskier would be sadder than he already was. 

He’d gotten close with Eskel and Vesemir over the course of the past few months—after all, they had helped bring him back from the brink of death—and he even considered Lambert a friend. He didn’t want them to leave. He didn’t want to leave. Mostly though, he didn’t want to leave Geralt. Once they’d made the decision to split, he hadn’t brought it up again other than to make travel plans. Jaskier had half hoped Geralt would keep arguing until he caved and they found a way to stay together, but no, he needed to stick to the plan they’d agreed upon. As much as he didn’t want to part ways with his Witcher, the arguments he’d made still stood. Geralt had things he needed to do, and Jaskier couldn’t keep him from them. And once he pushed past all of the sadness of leaving Kaer Morhen, he really was excited to teach at Oxenfurt. He kept telling himself that once he got there and got settled all of this wouldn’t hurt so bad. If only he could believe it. 

***

Geralt watched from across the table as Jaskier tried to keep himself from laughing, his mouth full of soup, as Lambert made a crude, but admittedly funny joke. The atmosphere was lighthearted, especially considering the circumstances, but Geralt was putting considerable effort into not letting the others see how down he felt. 

Usually he was chomping at the bit to leave Kaer Morhen at winter’s end, but now it wasn’t just winter which was ending. His time with Jaskier was ending too, and it hurt more than he was willing to admit. He told himself he was just worried about something happening to Jaskier without him there to watch over him. The real reason why he was so upset was something he wouldn’t even admit to himself. 

Just as Jaskier swallowed his mouthful of soup and regained his composure, Vesemir spoke. 

“I don’t intend to get too sentimental,” he began, “but considering the winter we’ve had, I would be remiss if I didn’t say a few words.” 

The table fell silent. 

“I’m proud of the way you’ve all acted. When it began we were brought a new friend,” he nodded to Jaskier, and Geralt smiled as he watched the bard blush, “and presented the task of saving him.” Jaskier’s eyes fell, and Geralt’s smile faded. 

“We all know it was no easy task. It took considerable strength for all of us.” He turned to look at Eskel. 

“Eskel. Over the past months, I’ve watched as over and over again, you chose to sacrifice your time, and energy to help take care of someone who, before he came to Kaer Morhen, was a total stranger to you. You had no obligation to him, yet at every juncture you chose to help. You were calm and level headed, and the aid you gave was essential, and often went unacknowledged, but it was not unnoticed. Thank you.” 

Geralt’s eyes flitted over to Jaskier. His face was relaxed, but there were tears in his eyes. He wished he’d sat next to him so he could put a hand on his shoulder or something, but he was all the way across the table. 

“Geralt.” He looked away from Jaskier so he could meet Vesemir’s eyes. 

“This winter you went through something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It isn’t easy to watch someone you care about suffer.” Geralt felt a twinge of pain at this. He didn’t want to think about watching Jaskier die. 

“I can’t say you always handled it with grace,” Vesemir chuckled, and Geralt broke eye contact, smiling slightly, ashamed as he remembered all the times he lost his temper, lashing out at people and breaking things. “But you handled it,” he continued. “And when it came down to it, you were able to make the difficult decisions. You did well, Wolf.” 

He felt Lambert pat him on the back, no doubt thinking about when Geralt had punched the tree, one of the only moments he’d been present for. 

“And Jaskier.” 

Geralt looked up to see Jaskier, Eskel’s hand on his shoulder as tears ran down his cheeks. He remained composed though, keeping eye contact with Vesemir as the eldest Witcher addressed him. 

“The strength you’ve shown through all of this has been truly incredible. Your resiliency and determination is something I’ve never encountered in all of my years on The Continent. You’ve achieved things I wouldn’t have thought possible, and I feel grateful just to have been able to witness it. I’m sad to see you go, but I’m sure you’re going to achieve great things at Oxenfurt. I wish you all the best, and I hope our paths will cross again someday.” 

Jaskier grinned, his face still wet with tears. 

“Hopefully under better circumstances next time.” 

Jaskier wiped the tears from his eyes and cleared his throat. 

“Thank you, Vesemir. Thank all of you actually. It may sound cliche, but I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. You’ve not only taken care of me physically, you’ve also been there for me mentally and emotionally every step of the way, and for that I am so so grateful.” 

He finished his speech, looking like he was about to start crying again, and Geralt was surprised to feel a lump in his throat as well. With everything which had happened, he should feel grateful to finally be able to shut the door on this terrible chapter of his life, but it felt wrong to be walking through that door without Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably super awkward for Lambert. Lmao that's what you get for not helping


	41. Chapter 41

Geralt had been right, the journey through Kaedwen and Redania hadn’t been easy. Even with a horse the long hours of travel were exhausting. He had made an incredible amount of progress at Kaer Morhen, but he was still much weaker than he had been before getting sick. Geralt went slowly, patient as Jaskier took days to cover the distance which would have normally only taken a fraction of the time. There were days when Oxenfurt felt like an unattainable goal, a million miles away, and there were times when Jaskier genuinely thought he wouldn’t be able to make it, but Geralt was there with him for every step, ready to give him whatever he needed to get through the journey. This only reinforced the fear which had taken up permanent residence in his mind—what would he do without Geralt?

As difficult as the journey was though, it was nowhere near as hard as what Jaskier was faced with now, standing outside of his new apartment at Oxenfurt. 

Geralt had waited while Jaskier went in and met with the dean at Oxenfurt, celebrating with him when he returned with the news about the university’s newest professor. It was a truly jubilant moment. After months of celebrating things like, walking, feeding himself, and sleeping through the night, achieving something in the real world felt like a huge milestone. And it felt like the first step in the long process of putting the horrors of this winter behind him. The celebration was over quickly though, with the revelation of what it meant. Now there was nothing standing between Jaskier, and Geralt, and several long months apart. 

Ever since they’d left Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had kept telling himself there was still time—Geralt wasn’t leaving yet. They still had to travel to Oxenfurt, Jaskier still needed to find somewhere to live, he still needed to secure the teaching position, but now? Now it was finally time to send his Witcher away. 

“I can stay for a while longer,” Geralt offered. They were standing outside of Jaskier’s new apartment. “Just until you get settled.” 

Jaskier wanted more than anything to say yes. He wanted to stay here with Geralt forever—teaching at Oxenfurt with his Witcher to watch over him while he got back into the rhythm of being a real person again with real responsibilities. But then when would it end? If he didn’t say goodbye to Geralt now, he didn’t think he would ever be able to. As ironic as it might sound, it would have to be a clean break. 

“Come on, you’ve got places to be Geralt,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. 

“No, I know,” Geralt said, not willing to joke with him about this. “But, you still need to get some stuff for your apartment, right? And we’ve been traveling for a long time. I just want to know everything is going to be okay before I leave. You can’t hold that against me.” 

“But then when does it end?” Jaskier asked. “I can’t keep you here while there are people out there who actually need you.” 

He winced as he saw the expression on Geralt’s face.

“No, I didn’t mean that. I’ll always need you Geralt, it’s just—” 

“Jaskier, after the past few months,” they were both fumbling through their sentences, neither of them sure how to say goodbye. “You have to understand this is hard for me too, to let you go after everything.” 

“You think I’m not scared?” Jaskier asked. “I’m terrified to be alone after all of this, but I’m not going to let that stop me from moving on. I can’t let the things that happened this winter—as horrible and terrifying as they were—control the rest of my life, and I definitely can’t let them control yours.” 

Geralt sighed. “I know. I guess I just don’t want to say goodbye yet.” 

Jaskier gave him a sad smile. 

“I don’t want you to spend your time worrying about me. I’m going to be okay. Think of me here, teaching, living, getting stronger. And I’ll think of you out there saving people, and fighting monsters, and slowly working your way back to me. We’ll be together again so soon it’ll feel like we were never apart.” 

Usually, the Witcher would tease Jaskier for saying something so sappy, but not today. Geralt didn’t answer, instead just looking at Jaskier as if he was trying to memorize the bard’s face. 

Jaskier took a step forward, standing on tiptoe to kiss Geralt on the cheek, his heart fluttering. It nearly leapt out of his chest when Geralt wrapped his arms around him, closing the already small distance between them. Jaskier’s head fit perfectly in the crook of Geralt’s neck. He could feel Geralt’s heartbeat now too, slow and even unlike the quick, spastic rhythm coming from his own chest. 

“Promise you’ll send for me if anything happens—anything at all. I know it might be hard to reach me, but you have to promise me you’ll try alright?” Geralt sounded almost panicked as he pleaded with Jaskier to know that he would still be here for him, even after he left. 

“I will.” He wrapped his arms around the broad expanse of Geralt’s back, not wanting to let go. 

They stood like that for a while. It crossed Jaskier’s mind to care about looking strange to the people passing by, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about what they thought. 

It was Jaskier who finally pulled away. He would have been content to stay like this forever, but he also knew that every minute which passed would just make their parting harder. 

“Take care of yourself,” Geralt said, stepping back and giving Jaskier a half smile. “I’ll be back before you have time to miss me alright?” 

Jaskier nodded, worried he might start crying. He wanted to say, I love you, but all he could manage was goodbye.

And then Geralt was gone, and for the first time in months, Jaskier was truly on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the penultimate chapter :'(


	42. Chapter 42

The leaves were already starting to change colors by the time Jaskier saw Geralt again. He’d spent many long days talking himself out of sending letters to his Witcher. He was hard to reach when he was on the road though, and in the end, he knew it wouldn’t be good for either of them. He’d worked hard to give them a clean break, and he didn’t want to ruin that. This didn’t mean he didn’t miss him though. In fact, he’d spent so much time daydreaming about reuniting with Geralt, that when it actually happened he almost didn’t believe it. He did a double take, but no, it really was him. It was hard to mistake Geralt for anyone else, and as much as he couldn’t believe it, that was in fact his Witcher. 

***

Geralt had been away for too long. From the minute he left Jaskier at Oxenfurt he had wanted to turn around, but he stopped himself. Jaskier had been right, they both had things they needed to do on their own. This didn’t stop him from worrying though. 

Pretty soon after going off on his own, Geralt had started having nightmares. Sometimes he was back at Kaer Morhen, other times at Oxenfurt, but the plot was always the same. Jaskier was dying and Geralt was helpless to do anything about it. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, wanting nothing more than to drop whatever he was doing and go back to his bard. His worry followed him into his waking hours, plaguing him with images of Jaskier sick again, and now as he walked back onto the campus at Oxenfurt, he marveled at how long he’d managed to stay away. 

Even now, the worry still ate away at him. But then there he was. Not an image in his mind, not a dream, but really there right in front of him. Seeing Jaskier again felt like reaching the surface after a long dive. He’d been aching for him, and now that he was here, Geralt felt instantly relieved. Jaskier was the breath of air that he’d been yearning for all these months, and now that they were together again, Geralt finally felt like he could breathe again. 

Jaskier’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw the Witcher, and Geralt walked quickly to close the space between them, wrapping the bard up in a hug before either of them had the chance to speak. 

After a long moment, Jaskier was the first one to pull away. 

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” Geralt replied. 

Jaskier was beaming now, a smile seeming to span his entire face. He spent a few seconds just standing there, staring at Geralt, looking like he’d just been given a perfect gift. 

Geralt couldn’t believe how much better he looked. He’d made incredible progress with his rehabilitation at Kaer Morhen, but the person who stood before Geralt now was so much closer to the Jaskier he’d known before the winter, than the Jaskier he’d said goodbye to all those months ago. Geralt would still like to see him put on some more weight, but the hollows of his cheeks were filled out now, and the light was back behind his eyes. 

“Here,” Jaskier said, breaking the silence, “let’s go to my place. We can catch up there.” 

Geralt nodded, letting Jaskier lead the way, setting a faster pace than Geralt anticipated, bearing no resemblance to the man who’d hardly been able to take ten steps earlier this year. Geralt was thrilled, and so happy that they were finally reunited. His joy almost overshadowed the nervousness he felt about what he knew would come next. Almost.

***

Once they were back at Jaskier’s apartment, the bard sat down in an armchair, looking admittedly tired from the walk, but still in good spirits. Geralt sat across from him on the small couch. 

“How have you been?” Geralt asked, genuinely curious. “Better? How’s teaching?” 

This was enough to send him into a rambling account of his spring and summer. Geralt just took it all in, so glad to see how happy his bard seemed here. 

“I think they were about ready to fire me that first month,” he admitted, laughing. “I was out sick almost as often as I was in the classroom, but things got better after those first few weeks. The people here are kind, and my students love me,” he said. “I think there would be riots if they tried to fire me now.” 

From anyone else Geralt would take this as unabashed bragging, but he knew Jaskier well enough to know this was the truth. But this truth wasn’t without its sting. He wouldn’t be able to steal Jaskier away from this place as easily as he might want to. 

“What about you?” Jaskier asked, turning the conversation around. “How have you been?” 

Geralt would have been content to listen to Jaskier talk for hours, but he also knew that this conversation had to happen eventually. He couldn’t put it off forever. He’d been going over what he was going to say in his mind for the whole journey to Oxenfurt. He thought he knew exactly what he needed to say, but now that it was time to actually speak, it felt as if his tongue was frozen. 

“I realized a lot of things during our months apart,” he said, suddenly unable to meet Jaskier’s eyes. He took a deep breath. “I made a mistake at Kaer Morhen,” he admitted. 

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked, looking genuinely confused. 

“When Eskel asked me about us, I got scared,” he said. “And I thought we sorted everything out before I left, but we didn’t. I didn’t know anything,” he was picking up momentum now, and not even the fear in the pit of his stomach would stop him now. “I thought I was scared because putting a label on what we have would change things, but really I was scared because my feelings for you are so much deeper than I could admit—even to myself.” 

Jaskier didn’t speak now, instead just looking at Geralt, dumbstruck. 

“Jaskier, I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a long time. I don’t know how almost losing you wasn’t enough to make me realize, but living without you these past months was.” 

He stopped, unsure of what to say next. 

Jaskier looked at him for several long seconds, seeming to take it all in. To Geralt’s great relief though, he was the first to speak. 

“Geralt,” he began, taking a long pause before he continued. “I have been in love with you since I was eighteen,” he said. “And that experience has been the most beautiful, amazing, terrible, painful thing. Back then I wasn’t sure what I would do with myself. I thought it might kill me to keep pining for you the way that I did, but I’m older now, and I’ve learned a lot about both of us. I had come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t have you,” he explained. “Well, up until last winter. Something about being holed up with you at Kaer Morhen, it brought feelings to the surface which I thought I’d buried a long time ago. But when you left, I started all over again. Remembering who I was on my own, apart from you. It’s a process I have a feeling you’ll become familiar with too Geralt.” 

His heart sank. “What do you mean?” 

“I have a life here, Geralt,” he said. “And you have a life out there. It’s not fair to build our identities around each other and block out the rest of the world. I don’t want to stop teaching, and even with all your talk I know you could never stop being a Witcher.” 

He met Geralt’s gaze, sadness in both of their eyes. 

“So then what do you propose we do?” Geralt asked, so afraid that he’d come all this way to lose Jaskier all over again. 

Much to his surprise, he watched a smile break out on Jaskier’s face. 

“How about you kiss me,” he said. “And we can figure the rest out in the morning.” 

Geralt didn’t respond, instead standing up and walking over to where Jaskier sat, offering a hand and pulling Jaskier up so their faces were mere inches apart. 

He took a second to take it all in, wanting to memorize every part of this moment. The way the light hit Jaskier’s face, the feeling of his warm breath against his cheek, the way he looked up at Geralt, excited and expectant all at once. 

Geralt closed the distance, his lips meeting Jaskier’s, his hands around the bard’s waist, pulling him close so their bodies were pressed together, both of them breathing together as they lost themselves in the kiss. 

Finally after all they’d gone through that winter, and the agony of spending the spring and summer apart, they both got what they truly deserved. A moment of pure bliss. And nobody could take that away from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I am so sad. I hate that this is ending:( Not to be too cliche, but writing this fanfic has been the most amazing thing. I've never written fanfic like this before, and you guys have been so incredible, and I am so grateful for every single person who's taken the time to read it. 
> 
> I've posted the first chapter of my next long whump fic, and I'd love to see all of you there, but if this is where we part ways, I just want to say thank you so so so much. All the love<3


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